Falls On Me
by chossytoss
Summary: Post Judgment Day: Ziva returns to NCIS with a new revelation from her father, then everything spirals out of control with an assassination plot and she is led across international borders to dangerous places. Places she might not come back from. Tiva-ish
1. Closer

**Disclaimer: **Well obviously, anything unoriginal (like...NCIS) is not mine. And the title of the story is a song title, so that's not mine either.

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Two days, nine hours, and eighteen minutes. That's how long it had been since Ziva David's flight had landed in Tel Aviv. That's how long it took for her father to send someone to escort her to his office so they could talk.

Internally, Ziva had scoffed at the message the escort had given her. One, she did not need an escort. Two, her father wanted to talk? They had already played the typical father-daughter pleasantries game via phone at the airport. An initiation to a classified mission that would no doubt be dangerous and intricate was far more accurate, and expected.

Admittedly, she had been hoping she could maybe have a few days to reacquaint herself with her home and gain control of her thoughts before she was whisked off to be Mossad's immutable assassin again. But she was not one to disobey direct orders, particularly from her father. So here she sat in front of his desk, waiting for him.

Although it was imperceptible behind her steely façade, Ziva had actually been dreading this meeting. She had spoken with her father on the phone numerous times, but this was the first time in almost three years that she had actually _seen_ him, video conferences excluded. Professional updates between _Director_ and _Officer David_ hardly counted as seeing him – a fact she felt should bother her more than it did.

Here, she did not know what he would say or how he would react to her presence. She knew that he was aware of the true events that unfolded around Director Shepard's death, and she knew that he would be disappointed in Ziva. She had been assigned to protect Jen, and as of four days ago it was old news that she had failed. He would not want to hear her side of the story - not that he would ask in the first place. And even if he did, Ziva had nothing to say. A mistake was a mistake in Mossad, and now that Ziva had been recalled she felt it best to fall back on her training.

She sat with her back straight and feet crossed underneath the chair. Her hair was tied back in a bun to keep her neck cool – she realized earlier that morning that she wasn't used to the desert-like heat anymore. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, but she could feel her palms sweating. It was the only sign that she was suffering from nervous anticipation, a habit she had noticed the first time she held a gun.

Her expression was stoic, and she was praying that her eyes would not betray her agitation to her father. There were only two people in this world that had the ability to read her – one was her father, and one was Gibbs. She felt a small twinge in her heart when she thought of Gibbs, but she quickly buried it along with anything else she was feeling. She was in Israel now.

Just then the door opened, and her father strode in and began making his way over to where Ziva was. She immediately stood up, her hands remaining at her side as he greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. He looked into her eyes for a second, and she subconsciously held her breath. He must've been satisfied in whatever he saw there, because he soon released her and sat down behind his desk. Ziva followed his lead, only she was on the other side of the desk. He was the first to speak.

"I take it everything was in order at your apartment?" he asked, gazing at her with a hint of curiosity.

There was no hesitation in Ziva's motions when she nodded her head in agreement. The sooner they got the small talk over with, the sooner she could leave. Her father said nothing in response. He only continued to stare intently at her. Ziva's gaze dropped to the floor. She was not in the mood for an interpretative staring contest. She continued to avoid looking him in the eye for what felt like minutes, the tension increasing with every second of silence. Her palms were still sweating.

"Can you forgive an old man's mistakes?" he asked, his tone quiet and curious. His face held something unreadable.

Her head shot up instantly, her brow slightly furrowed in confusion. He called her in here to have _this_ conversation? The irony was almost laughable. Going against her self-made promise to remain expressionless, she narrowed her eyes for the shortest of seconds.

"What?"

"Your heart is still in America. I know you do not wish to be here."

She said nothing in response, but she subconsciously stiffened her hands together.

"I have disappointed you, Ziva."

Ziva tilted her head in uncertainty, unable to rid herself of the fear of where this was going. She had been brought here with the expectation that she would either receive a heated lecture, a complex assignment, or both. She was definitely not expecting _that_. Not from anyone, and especially not from her father. She held his gaze, but remained silent for several charged seconds.

"I do not think…" she began, but she was quickly interrupted by a hand from her father.

"Please, just listen. I must speak with you."

Ziva nodded slowly, but she was still confused. And she was pretty confident that it was showing. However at this point, she figured she felt she had a right to be. Her father made to continue.

"Do you remember the day your sister died?"

Ziva further narrowed her eyes, trying to wrap her head around a lot of things. How could she not? She settled with a simple answer.

"Yes."

"But you should not," he replied, looking darkly pensive.

Ziva's confusion was multiplying by the second. What the hell did he mean by that? She should not, as in she should completely erase it from her memory? She knew Mossad taught to bury feelings where they could not be touched, but memories? _You should not…_what did that even mean?

Her father watched her for a moment with a calculating gleam in his eye, as if debating what he was going to say. He seemed almost reluctant to continue, but eventually he did.

"That is when I began making mistakes."

Ziva still remained silent, but now impatience was blending with her confusion. She didn't know what he was trying to say, or why he was seemingly having trouble saying it. He was speaking of his own mistakes, and a few minutes earlier she had been bracing herself for the discussion of her own. It was clear now that he was seriously troubled by something. That only served to increase her dread.

"I do not understand. Please just tell me what you are hiding," demanded Ziva. She was tired of his ambiguous self-accusations. She wanted, and needed, to know what was really going on.

But her father did not respond to Ziva's words. Something flickered across his face, but Ziva had become so accustomed to his emotionless persona that she swore she was imagining it. But then, this conversation was by far the strangest she had ever had with her father, so maybe she wasn't. Either way, his only response to the unease lining her features was silence. And staring. Her frustration at his uncertainty was taking hold. She moved forward slightly in her seat.

"I know I have n—"

"Tali is alive," he blurted out so uncharacteristically.

The words had not really registered in her head. In fact, everything seemed to go blank for a minute. Her mind was completely empty, numb almost. Comprehension became difficult, but she was trying. Very hard.

Alive…

"What?"

"That day, it was a lie. A suicide bomber did not kill your sister. Tali is alive."

Her heart was beating frenetically, mind racing. Her stomach dropped to the floor, leaving her feeling winded and left behind.

"But how did you…w_hat_?"

Eli shifted in his chair, and he used a tired hand to remove the glasses from the bridge of his nose.

"A rash group of enemies made a threat against me, and they made it clear that they would endanger my youngest daughter. When the opportunity came to hide her, we took it. Tali was believed to be dead by everyone. She was safe."

_Everyone_ had included Ziva. Not good.

"And…you knew. You knew she was alive?"

"Yes. But I could not tell you."

Ziva ignored her body's tensed reaction to this news. She was more focused on the man now standing in front of her, having moved around to the front of his desk. She stood up as well, eying him with suspicion. Her previous confusion had now melted into anger.

After Tali had died, Ziva had thrown herself into Mossad training to mask the pain. And her father had encouraged her. She had been taught never to feel, never to show mercy, never to let her guard down. And she did that, willingly. For Tali, it was all because of Tali! All of it had been to fill the void left by the death of her sister. And now he, the same man who had stood by her side at the funeral and told her not to cry, was telling her she was alive?

And he had known the entire time.

All of that time she had been pushing herself beyond her own limits to cover the pain of losing the person she loved most. And he had _encouraged_ her.

"You _asshole_! You let this happen!" she whispered fervently, staring him down. Anger was seeping through her features now, but she made no effort to hide it. She wanted him to see it. To _feel_ it.

Instead, she felt the sting of his hand as he slapped it across her face, hard. It was not the first time he had lifted a hand against her, but it still stung. Perhaps he had not been expecting that reaction. Slightly disgusted that he had the nerve to hit her, her own fists clenched and she felt her anger amplify. She took a step backward, trying to regain control.

"Keep yourself in order, Ziva. This is very important."

A part of her wanted to retaliate, but instead she found herself falling back into her chair as the truth of his words began to sink in and her nerves calmed. Her sister was alive. She had not died, she had never been dead. Tali - her sister, her best friend - was alive!

She closed her eyes briefly, thinking.

Still it did not make any sense. How did any of this happen? And why was he telling her now, after lying to her for eight years? She meant to ask that, but it didn't come out quite like she planned. Most likely because she was still angry and having trouble calming down. And her face still stung.

"Where is she? I would have…………why did you lie?"

"I know you are upset, just _listen_ to me. I will answer your questions."

Ziva paused for a moment, considering her options. One, she could release her anger and take a smart comment that Tony would have been proud of and throw in it his face. Or two, she could agree to listen and find the answers to her questions. She was tempted by the first option, very tempted, but her logic won out. In this case, she was unsure of whether that should surprise her or not.

She nodded her head at her father to show her cooperation, but she was still glaring at him. He was back behind his desk now and looked determined.

"For the past eight years Tali has been staying with an old friend in Egypt, with a new identity. To ensure her safety we have had limited contact, and I have not heard from her in two years. In our last meeting she informed me that she had begun working for the CIA substation operating out of Cairo."

He laughed a little to himself, his small chuckle lacking any real mirth.

"She could not even tell her own father what she was doing, but that is unimportant. I have been in this business too long to be offended by such things."

Ziva nodded, frowning. His last statement was certainly true. She waited expectantly, getting more hopeful by the second. She also hoped her father didn't notice. Apparently he didn't, because he continued.

"All she told me was that the Americans knew her true identity, but they kept her protected. I have not spoken to her since then."

Ziva did not respond. She was taking in everything being said to her, but he still had more questions to answer. There were still traces of anger in her gaze, but it had mostly faded now as the confusion came to the forefront. Eli seemed to pick up on this, and his voice strengthened as he explained.

"You asked why I am telling you this now," he led, straightening himself for the conversation and looking his daughter in the eye.

"When I sent you after Ari in America I could see that you were troubled. You had already lost your sister, and you had lived a life of pain. Then accusations were made against your brother, and you had to clean up his mess. After his death I knew then that you did not understand, and that you would question yourself. And then you would question me. Then _I_ began to question me."

A thin silence hung in the air, and Ziva couldn't tell if his subtle show of self-loathing was sincere or not. He broke it after a few moments, bringing his gaze back to center.

"What happened to my family? One daughter in hiding, one daughter who I have trained to kill, and a son who is a traitor. And I realized…that it was all my own doing. I have caused you pain, Ziva, I know. I wanted to tell you for years, but I could not. I was afraid for Tali's safety. And now Leon has sent you back to me, and I can see that you did not want to leave. I knew I must tell you now. I should never have lied to you."

"But why did you not tell me then, on that day? Why did you keep it from me?"

Her voice reminded him of a time when she was much younger, asking questions about a world she had come to understand too soon. He sighed.

"Recently I have been asking myself the same question. You were not a threat to Tali, it was no secret you loved her very much. So then why did I lie to you? My answer is simple – I was selfish, Ziva."

Simple?

"When you were grieving your sister you worked harder than anyone I have ever known. Nothing made me more proud than to see you as you were then. And I admit, I took advantage of this. I had one daughter far away from danger, and one daughter that was fearless. What more could I want?"

Ziva said nothing, but internally she was stunned. Here her father was admitting that he had knowingly been responsible for her pain. Admitting what she had never accused him of, but never forgiven him for either. When Gibbs had basically asked her, years ago, if she believed her father to be a monster, she had not known what to say. And now she didn't have to say anything – her father was saying it for her. But like with Gibbs back then, Ziva didn't know how to react.

"I have been a fool, Ziva. I have lied to you for too long."

She was not surprised. It wasn't an apology, it was just the end of his confession. As angry and disappointed, and just generally shocked as she was, Ziva knew she would forgive him. He was still her father, and she would always love him for that. She closed her eyes briefly, then sighed quietly.

"It is not all your fault, Papa."

Maybe, maybe not. But it fit and she was far too exhausted for anything else.

Her father nodded at her statement, but Ziva felt that could be interpreted in more than one way. But she figured it didn't really matter and decided not to ask. She had a lot to think about, and she didn't feel like talking any longer anyways. A part of her was still angry, and she needed to deal with that before she did anything else of importance. Her father was still gazing at her.

"I will send someone for you in the morning. We must discuss your new assignment."

She nodded stiffly, realizing that the conversation was over. But she was glad, she did not want to be in that room any longer. She strode out of the office, closing the door behind her and ignoring the looks the various secretaries were giving her.

For reasons both clear and unclear, she pissed off more drivers than usual when she drove home that night.

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_Thanks for reading :)_


	2. Shimmer

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that relates to NCIS.

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_Set immediately after "Agent Afloat"..._

Ziva swirled the last remaining remnants of her drink around in her glass, subconsciously hoping to hear the clink of the ice hitting the sides. It was her third mojito of the night, but she was pretty much done drinking anyway. She was comfortable enough.

She frowned slightly upon gazing into the contents of her glass, not really taking in what she was looking at. The condensation on the edges felt cold on the inside of her hand, which was loosely gripping the glass. The cooling sensation spread briefly throughout the rest of her arm, but it didn't do much to quell the mild overheating of her whole body. As much as she liked this particular bar, it was _always_ hot. She figured it was probably a trick to get people to buy more drinks, but she didn't really know. Nor care. Right now she was absentmindedly yet determinedly staring down the ice cubes still moving around in the bottom of her glass.

The person across from her, however, didn't seem to be too bothered by the heat. Maybe that was because he was sipping on his fourth, and because he was too busy thinking about whatever he was thinking about. Ziva wondered, but she didn't ask. One, she didn't feel like talking _all_ that much. Two, the night's alcohol had successfully taken the edge off, and she didn't want to risk jeopardizing that wonderful warm feeling.

He finished his rather long sip and placed his glass back on the table with the steadily growing collection of empty ones. The movement brought her attention to his face.

He was looking at her with that brooding, serious gaze that she rarely saw, but when she did, it was always…serious. No lighthearted banter, no witty jokes, no personal inquiries. Only a piercing urgency with hints of anger. A gaze that if she was not Ziva David, she would be intimidated by. Except that this time, she was glad to notice, there wasn't any trace of negative expression on his face. A serious Tony, but at least he wasn't an angry and serious Tony. After a few more pensive seconds, he pushed the glass away from him and flashed half a smile.

"I've missed this. I almost went crazy on that stupid ship. Nuts, mad, cuckoo. It was borderline insanity. Trust me," he said, reaching for the glass he had pushed away all of about three seconds ago.

Ziva nodded her head at his words and smirked slightly, remembering the stories he had been telling the rest of the team (excluding Gibbs, obviously) earlier before they all went home for the night. Now it was just she and Tony, something she was comfortable with, yet a little uneasy about at the same time. Despite the alcohol, her guard was back up as it interpreted his signals. They were far enough away from serious topics that she didn't want to discuss, but if he continued that line of thinking she knew it would not take long to get there.

She wanted to think of something to say that would steer them away from any topic that was mutually painful, but she couldn't really think of anything. Maybe it was the heat, or the sedative effect of the alcohol. Or both. She tilted her head slightly, content to just let him continue. He probably wouldn't want to talk about anything important either.

Instead of continuing his rant about his days as an agent afloat, Tony had shifted his position so that his elbow was now bent and resting on the table, with his head resting in his upturned palm. Now he was staring at her with that playful, I'm-about-to-bother-you look that he probably hadn't used while cooped up on a ship full of uptight sailors. He let her take a sip of her drink before speaking.

"So, what's new in Israel my ninja?"

Before Ziva could register what he had actually asked her, she smiled at the last part of his question. To her, it was an endearing term that, at times like these, made her smile. That was actually ironic, because if Tony called anyone else something so seemingly not flattering and downright strange as "my ninja", they would probably hit him. And that was ironic in itself, coming from her.

Her silent musings were interrupted when the words of his question actually clicked in her brain. Israel. She had only recently returned to Washington, so of course he would ask that. She considered telling him about the only thing worth talking about, but her defenses were still up. Defenses that had increased somewhat when she had returned to Mossad. She straightened her neck again and looked away for the shortest of seconds before looking him in the eye.

"Nothing," she said with an almost fierce finality, trying to sound casual yet certain. It sounded so clearly like she was hiding something, which of course she was. Even Tony could notice that.

"Ah come on, Ziva. I may have been floating on a ship for four months but I still know that look. And that look…tells me that you are lying."

"Am I, Tony?" she replied quickly, her eyebrows raising in the process. He ignored her, knowing she was trying to distract him with a challenge. But he was onto something.

"So what is it this time? Did Mossad's greatest weapon crash her car? Break a leg? Break a nail?"

"Tony…"

"Ahh, the look is getting stronger I see. It must be important. Did the icicles in your heart finally melt away? I'm sure McGoo would be proud. Ohhh or maybe you fell _out_ of love, that would make for a good sequel. Don't tell him I said that," he added, feigning fear of his Probie's reaction.

Ziva rolled her eyes.

"No Tony, I did not fall in or out of love. And even if I did, it would be none of your business," she replied back seriously, traces of fierceness in her tone still present.

"Of course not," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly but lacking any hostility normally associated with a glare. This was more of a calculating look.

She took another sip of from her drink, which was getting closer to the bottom of the glass as time passed. When she came up with no reply he continued his little rant.

"So that only leaves Daddy David."

Ziva raised her eyebrows and answered with a tone just short of condescending.

"Daddy David? Tony, staying on that ship really has made you crazy."

"You didn't answer the question."

"No," she replied lowly, releasing some of her tension in a deep breath.

"So…am I right or am I right or am I right? Guess what that's from?"

"A stupid movie?"

"No, Ziva, it's not stupid. And you know what, it's not important right now. What _is_ important, is you spilling all your fascinating family secrets."

Maybe it was the word 'secrets', or the way that Tony had unknowingly guessed right. Whatever the reason, Ziva's head shot up and she matched his curious gaze with a look of her own, one that he couldn't fully interpret.

"Well, am I right?" he asked, unable to hide the curiosity now bubbling from within his mind. Ziva hesitated for a moment and began mindlessly playing with the straw from her glass. Within a few short seconds she was holding Tony's gaze again.

"No."

Both of Tony's eyebrows arched towards his forehead in response. Maybe she could've fooled someone else, but not him. He had known her too long for that, even if they had been temporarily separated. Ziva seemed to realize this, because she shifted her position in her seat slightly and gave in.

"Yes."

"Ah, I knew it. Looks like my investigative skills are still in tune. No rust whatsoever. So, what did he do?"

Ziva was quiet for a moment, simply absorbing the atmosphere around them. She knew they couldn't be heard, not that anyone was listening. She knew she should tell him. She figured the both of them had dealt with enough deception in their lives. Still, she was slightly hesitant due to her natural instincts, but…as immature and irritating as he could be, she did trust him. And though she would never admit it, she had missed him, and _this_, as he had put it.

"He lied."

Tony's mind flashed back to a previous and equally serious exchange that they'd had about lying not too long ago, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"About?"

"Do you remember one of the first conversations we had?"

"Uhh yeah you thought I was having phone sex," he replied, grinning stupidly at the memory.

Ziva snorted. Of course he would remember that.

"No, but a little after that."

"Oh right when I followed you to that pool. You have great form by the way, did I ever tell you that? Oh yes, I remember it. Clear as mud. You took my piece of pizza, which you still owe me for."

Ziva narrowed her eyes at his use of an idiom she did not understand, trying to keep up with what he was saying. Eventually she just continued on with what she was saying in the first place.

"Do you remember what I told you? Or is food all you think about?"

"You told me about your sister," he replied, dropping some of his light manner.

"Yes."

"O…kay, so what does this have to do with your father?"

"He lied to me."

"About what, Tali?"

"She is not dead. She never was."

Tony fought the urge to point out that she didn't need to say that, since by saying that someone is not dead implies that they never were. And then it hit him.

Her sister wasn't dead?

He didn't even know her, and to him that was great news. He was expecting Ziva to be more excited. A lot more excited. He knew she wasn't one to show her emotions, but the expression on her face didn't resemble anything close to happiness. Tony could see that her jaw was clenched and her eyebrows were slightly furrowed. Like she was trying not to get pissed. Or fighting back old memories. Probably both.

"And your father pretended to kill one of his daughters in a fake explosion…why?"

"It wasn't fake. Just good timing."

"Timing for what?"

"My father needed to hide her. He led everyone to believe she was dead, including me."

Ziva fell silent for a moment, not really looking at her partner.

"Hmm," Tony started, contemplating something in his head while fiddling with lemon peel on his drink. "I think I'm missing something here."

"It is not easy to explain, Tony," she replied with the same hint of irritation in her voice he had grown used to hearing before his days as an agent afloat.

"I'm sorry. You were saying?"

"As a high ranking official in Mossad, my father had many enemies. One got personal and threatened to harm Tali if he did not cooperate. He staged her death to stop them from going after her."

"But wouldn't they just come after you, or your brother?" he inquired, not understanding the situation completely. Ziva noticed that he neglected to say her brother's name, but she didn't mind. It was just something they did not discuss.

"I guess he was not that worried."

"No wonder your brother hated him," he muttered under his breath, staring intensely at the table without realizing it. Ziva didn't respond, apparently unbothered by such a comment.

"She was always the favorite," she explained, brushing him off with a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"How did you find out?" asked Tony, swallowing down some of his drink and turning his serious gaze back on Ziva.

"It was obvious. She was never scolded for anything," she replied, a small reminiscent smile involuntarily appearing on her face. Obviously unaware that she had misinterpreted Tony's question.

He laughed lightly. It wasn't often that they discussed Ziva's childhood, but now he was started on one topic, and he didn't want to stop until he knew the whole story. He was far too curious and far too…_Tony_.

"I meant about Tali. How did you find out she was still alive?"

The smile disappeared.

"He told me."

"He just…randomly dropped that bomb on you?"

"Yes."

Tony had the urge to comment that she _would_ know that expression, but he ignored it. He also knew there was more to it than Ziva was letting on.

He didn't believe that her father would just randomly reveal to his only child that in fact, she wasn't really an only child anymore and that he had been lying for eight years. He had been around Gibbs too long to think that. However, he didn't press the issue. He could see that this whole thing was making her uncomfortable. Once upon a happier time, before LA, he would've taken advantage of that, but as of now he was being serious with her.

"So, why the long face? I mean I know your father probably pissed you off, but at least your sister's alive right? Did you get to see her?"

She shook her head, frowning.

"I was not allowed to see or communicate with her."

"What, not even once? Why not?"

Ziva shifted in her seat a little, trying to keep her uneasiness at bay.

"Even after all these years her life still could be in danger. My father did not want to take any chances. And she has been working undercover on an important mission for several months."

"Undercover? Is she Mossad?"

"No. She has been working with the CIA in Egypt. That is where she lives."

"So you found out your sister is alive, but you can't see her? How is _that_ fair?"

"It is not, Tony, but what can I do?"

Tony studied her for a moment, thinking.

"Well how would you find out if she's…you know," he trailed off, struggling with whatever was going through his mind.

"I have been checking with her local contact every so often to make sure she is alive," she finished for him, still able to anticipate his thoughts even after their time apart.

To her credit, Tony thought Ziva was handling this very professionally. But if he could gauge from the pain in her eyes that she couldn't fully mask and her initial reaction to the mention of her father earlier, he knew that Ziva was sad. In his head it sounded like an oversimplification, but it was true. Not depressed, or despondent, or heartbroken, just sad. The way her jaw was now clenched up again and the way she was looking down at the table confirmed his thoughts.

"You miss her a lot?"

She looked up at his words, but not as quickly as before. It didn't take her long to respond.

"Yes," she responded firmly, knowing from the softness of his features and the seriousness of his tone that he would understand.

"Think you'll ever see her again?"

This time, Ziva definitely hesitated. But there was no trace of dishonesty in her voice.

"I do not know," she replied, her answer lacking the decisiveness that he usually heard. Like she was genuinely uncertain, and he figured she had a right to be.

"Well, I'll tell you what. This next one's on me."

"Tony, you do not need t—"

But he interrupted her and held a hand up to stop her.

"Say no more, Ziva. I'm senior field agent again and this decision is final."

Ziva smiled lightly in return.

She appreciated the way Tony was acting, truly. He didn't pester her with incessant questions, didn't try to cheer her up with empty words that would do nothing except bounce off of her – maybe that was because he knew what false comfort felt like. He rarely showed it, but Ziva knew that underneath his sophomoric persona there were emotional scars. She could see that his most recent wound surrounding LA was healing, but it still hurt. It hurt her, too, but for different and much more elusive reasons.

As he got up from the table to get them another round of drinks, Ziva began to realize that she and Tony were more alike than either of them cared to admit. Due to a mutual fear of attachment, she doubted they ever would. That's just not how they "rolled" as Tony would probably put it. But, at the same time, it was calming to know that whatever crap lay in the future for both of them, she still had at least one more drink to share with her partner.

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_Thanks for reading :)_


	3. Train

**Disclaimer: **Anything NCIS related is not mine.

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About a week later…

Ziva tapped the steering wheel lightly, hoping to pass the time by absentmindedly playing along to the music coming from her radio.

She had been sitting in traffic for twenty minutes already, and her impatience was beginning to set in. Normally this wouldn't have bothered her all that much, since traffic was nothing new in DC. But this morning she was particularly frustrated because she had been forced to take a new route on her run this morning and she was already running late. And now, she was sitting idly in traffic. Gibbs would be pissed. She hoped Tony would be later than her. She smirked to herself at that thought.

After several more minutes of blaring car horns, some cursing, and loud bass-heavy music from a few obnoxious punks up ahead, traffic finally began to pick up again. As soon as it was available, Ziva zoomed into an open lane where she was free to speed and drive however she wanted. In the process she cut off a large SUV, whose driver laid on the horn for several seconds before continuing to flick her off. Ziva was unfazed. In fact, she mildly enjoyed it. To her, it was all in the thrill of driving.

Flying down the highway at what she thought was a comfortable speed of ninety miles an hour, Ziva was thoroughly enjoying the ride. She knew she was making good time and now she was only ten minutes away from the NCIS building.

Or not.

She was now rapidly approaching a car that clearly did not understand her need for speed, as it was driving about thirty miles per hour slower. She let out a quick curse under her breath, not wanting to be stuck behind it. She also didn't want Gibbs to sit her ass at a desk all day for being late.

In a rather risky maneuver, she moved into the lane next to her to pass the car while at the same time turning her body around to reach for her cell phone that she had thrown in the backseat in her haste this morning. Maybe if she _called_ Gibbs…

She allowed one hand to steer the car into the other lane for her, feeling around behind her for her phone. But as she was turning around with her cell phone in her other hand all the sudden the glass on the passenger side window shattered with an unexpected force. She felt something powerful whiz over the top of her left shoulder.

But time did not freeze as they always say it does.

By the time the driver's side window had exploded into shards of glass, she realized what was happening. Had she not reached for her cell phone at that second, it wouldn't be her shoulder that was bleeding right now. The bullet would have gone straight through her head.

Temporarily blinded by the sudden searing pain in her shoulder and the glass flying around the car, Ziva swerved out of control into the other lane, towards the exit ramp. She spun the wheel wildly to stop herself from hitting any other cars, trying desperately to regain control of the vehicle. But the momentum and her lack of an effective reaction was too much to handle, and the car continued to barrel towards the side of the road.

Instinctively she slammed on the brakes and immediately she was greeted by the piercing screech of tires, but that only served to cause the car to start sliding and skidding, leaving behind the smell of burnt rubber. It was veering off the highway completely and heading straight for the side of the ramp. The ramp with no guard rail. But she didn't even register this as she desperately tried to turn the wheel as hard as she could.

All of this in under four seconds.

The front end of her car tore over the edge of the pavement at far too high a speed, catching air and smashing into the sloped ground with the sound of crunching metal. The force of the impact caused the car to continued barreling down the small stretch of hill next to the ramp, rolling over repeatedly as it went. It didn't take long for Ziva to bang her head on something and black out as the car thrashed around completely out of her control.

* * *

Tony pushed his finger down on the button of the small remote he was holding, the next picture from a certain crime scene popping up as a result.

He had spent the first half of the last thirty minutes flipping through crime scene photos looking for something they had missed that could be useful. He spent the other half glancing over his shoulder and wondering where the hell Ziva was because they were supposed to be doing this together. Gibbs had said nothing about her apparent tardiness as he exited the building – he was probably more focused on his next fix of coffee than the whereabouts of his third agent.

But as fifteen minutes turned into forty, Tony was getting more and more flustered.

By her standards, Ziva was ridiculously late and she had nothing to show for it. A part of him was anxious as to why she was taking so long, and a part of him was looking forward to teasing her when Gibbs chewed her out. Figuring she was probably at some sort of appointment, Tony half-heartedly went back to fruitlessly perusing through crime scene photos.

Maybe he could convince her when she finally got here that Gibbs had instructed her to finish all the paperwork alone…

Ten minutes later Gibbs returned from his coffee run with that look on his face that usually meant they had a case. Tony internally prepared himself for the words 'gear up', but they never came.

Instead, Gibbs strode behind his desk and placed his coffee down. He was hunched over his chair and appeared to be looking at something on his computer. But then Tony realized his computer wasn't on yet, and he was just leaning into his desk, clearly thinking about something.

"DiNozzo," he stated, his eyes wandering over to where Tony was looking at him expectantly, remote still in hand. "Where's Ziva?"

And so the gut churns.

"Uh, don't know Boss, I was thinking you would know."

Gibbs stared at him, still hunched over his desk. Tony shook his head at himself.

"Right, then you wouldn't be asking."

"McGee,"

McGee's head perked up from behind his computer monitor at Gibbs's voice.

"Yes Boss?"

"Do you have access to her scheduling thingy?" asked Gibbs, pointing to Ziva's computer for clarification. McGee, who had long since graduated from being confused by Gibbs's lack of technology-speak, nodded assuredly.

He hesitated as his hands were hovering over his colleague's keyboard.

"You know she's gonna kill me when she finds out I'm going through her stuff," he mumbled to Tony, who was now right next to McGee, waiting impatiently.

"Not if Gibbs kills her first," Tony whispered back, stealing a glance at Gibbs, who was making a phone call and glaring into space.

Two minutes later Gibbs slammed the phone shut, angrily hooking it back to the clip on his belt. Apparently Ziva wasn't answering.

"You two find anything yet?"

McGee stopped typing, doing his best to look apologetic.

"No appointments or prior commitments. She should be here," concluded McGee, his tone leading and puzzled.

"You try her home phone, Boss?"

Stare.

"Of course you did," muttered Tony, returning to his position of hovering over McGee and the computer.

"Trace her cell," commanded Gibbs, moving closer to Ziva's desk and the two members of his team currently working at it. McGee nodded, a bit of an uneasy frown etched on his face.

"On it," he replied, ignoring his teammate's low whistle at the speed of his fingers flying across the keys.

"Why am I getting a bad feeling about this?" asked Tony darkly, not liking the expression on his boss's face.

No one had an answer for him.

* * *

Ziva woke up completely dazed, her head throbbing dully.

She took a second to take in her surroundings, unable to comprehend what the hell she was doing upside down in a car that was resting in a shallow swamp.

Upside down?

Then her instincts kicked in, causing her stomach to drop with the sudden rush of urgency.

She ignored the pain in her shoulder, which thankfully the adrenaline allowed her to do. She reached to unbuckle her seatbelt, trying unsuccessfully to snap it out several times. Her shaking muscles made such a task all the more difficult. She didn't even register the small cuts on her arms and hands from the flying shards of glass.

When she heard the click that signaled the release of the seatbelt, she immediately turned her attention to freeing herself from the car. She pushed on the door for a second, but it didn't budge. She tried again, this time bringing her entire body weight into it. Still nothing.

As the blood continued rushing to her head she became more desperate.

She brought her legs down closer to her body and repositioned herself so that her head was sticking out the window, her back facing the ground. Then, gripping the bottom of the window frame for support, she pushed herself out the window, the remnants of the glass digging into her palms. She landed on the ground with a small splash, the water shallow enough for her to feel the bottom underneath her.

Muscles still shaking slightly, she picked herself up from the grimy pool of water and mud and collapsed down onto the nearby grass, trying to regain her composure. Breathing heavily, she picked up the scent of burnt rubber and her cognitive abilities came rushing back to her all at once.

Someone had definitely taken a shot at her, and she had swerved off the road as a result.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment in an effort to calm her nerves, which were on overdrive from the adrenaline. What the hell had just happened?

She stood up slowly, hoping to not draw attention to herself incase the shooter was still around. There was no way she could access the Glock stashed in her glove box, and her Sig was at work. And she had lost her cell phone in the crash. She was running out of options here.

Not knowing what else to do, she pulled out the knife she had concealed at her waist as a precaution. She took one last look at her wrecked car partially submerged in the swamp and began walking at a brisk pace towards the nearby underpass, a minor limp in her step.

She knew she should stay, talk to the police and paramedics, try and call someone. All of that. But her instincts, her training, they were overriding everything. She felt she could still be in danger out in the open.

She cursed under her breath as the full extent of her situation hit her, and she picked up the pace of her walk as her determination to get out of there increased.

By the time the paramedics and the other emergency crews got to the scene of the crash, Ziva was already gone.

* * *

After some furious typing and about a minute of expectant silence, the coordinates of Ziva's cell phone flashed up onto the plasma, which by now Gibbs and Tony were waiting in front of impatiently. McGee rose from his seat and joined them soon after.

The three of them stared at the results lightly flashing on the screen, silent.

"Think she's stuck in traffic?" piped up Tony after seeing his partner's location. It seemed plausible enough. It _was_ on the route she normally took to work.

"She would've answered her damn phone, DiNozzo," Gibbs responded knowingly, obviously having already thought of that.

"Well maybe she was afraid that you w—" started Tony, a slight grin on his face at what he was about to say.

Gibbs turned to face him halfway through his sentence, his features stern and irritated.

"Nevermind."

"Uhhh, Boss?" came McGee's voice from behind them, his tone full of confusion and _you're not going to like this_. They both turned around to see what McGee was looking at.

On the small TV screen next to the other plasma, there was a breaking news story on ZNN. McGee leaned closer to turn it up, a part of him dreading what he would hear.

The footage showed a badly damaged red Mini-Cooper being lifted out of a small body of water. There was a news-woman saying something, but Tony couldn't hear her properly. He moved closer to listen.

"…_was lifted out of the surrounding marshland late this morning. Witnesses say the car swerved into another lane and began spinning out of control before being flipped off the ramp and continuing to roll down the hill. The vehicle came to an abrupt stop upon hitting the water, which response teams are saying probably helped reduce the force of impact. Police are still investigating the cause of the crash…_"

The lady continued to talk about the information surrounding the incident, but Tony had stopped listening. That car had looked sickeningly like Ziva's. And this definitely didn't feel like a coincidence. One look at Gibbs told him he felt the same way.

McGee was a little slower on the uptake, or maybe he was just the only one to voice what they were thinking.

"You don't think that was Ziva's car, do you?"

Gibbs didn't respond to McGee's question. Instead he turned around and walked back towards his desk.

"McGee, call Bethesda and see if she's there. Tony get Metro PD on the phone."

Tony spun on his heel and began walking back to his desk with a new sense of urgency, but he was stopped in his tracks.

Ziva was standing right in his path, and looked like she was hovering between her desk and his.

Oh.

She grimaced mildly at Tony's shock and the images on the plasma before speaking.

"No need, Gibbs."

Gibbs immediately turned around and McGee almost dropped the receiver he was holding.

Tony was too temporarily dumbfounded by her appearance to say anything. Her hair and all of her clothes were soaking wet, not to mention splattered with dirt and mud. She had several tiny red cuts on her arms and face, but they were dwarfed by the makings of a bruise above her right temple where she had hit her head. His eyes were immediately drawn to the large gash on her left side that started right above her collarbone and ended at the back edge of her shoulder. The majority of her shoulder and upper arm were covered in blood. Parts of her chest were streaked with crimson, too. Tony's ability to speak soon returned to him.

"Ziva what the hell happened to you?"

She ignored his question. Not now.

Her attention was now directed at Gibbs, who had quickly made his over to where she was standing. He gently placed a firm hand on her uninjured shoulder and looked her directly in the eyes, authoritative yet concerned.

"We're going to the hospital. You can explain on the way."

"No, Gibbs, really. There is no need. I am fi—"

"I'll say when there's a need, Ziva. Come on."

Maybe more authoritative then concerned. But that was just Gibbs.

"Gibbs, I am not going anywhere," she snapped, frustrated at his insistence that she go to the hospital. There was fierceness in her tone and her eyes were filled with determination. He didn't want to challenge that right now. She was almost as stubborn as he was, and he was in no mood to be forced to literally drag her to the car.

"Fine. But you're not doing anything we've sorted this out."

"There is nothing to sort out."

Gibbs pulled out the chair from behind her desk.

"Sit down."

Ziva looked incredibly flustered at his determination, but he shook his head.

"Not a debate, Ziva. Sit down."

So she sat, holding back her irritation.

"Tony, make sure she stays. I'm going to get Ducky."

"On it, Boss."

Ziva rolled her eyes at what she felt was unwarranted concern on Gibbs's part. She did not need, nor want, Tony to baby-sit her. She did not see this leading anywhere good.

Tony was grinning at her as she sighed heavily in her chair. She just stared at him.

"What?" she asked after getting annoyed at the way he was looking at her.

"Just trying to figure out what you did to crash your car so badly."

"It was not my fault Tony, okay? So just drop it."

"Not until you tell me how fast you were going. 120? 150?"

She scoffed, waving a hand.

"That is irrelevant. I was in complete control."

"Tell that to the firemen lifting your car out of the ditch," replied Tony, pointing to the news footage still playing on the TV across the room. He had dropped his smile now.

"Whatever. Could you please be quiet now?" she asked, leaning forward in her seat and putting her head down in her hands.

Why she didn't tell Tony about the fact that someone had tried to take her out while she was driving, she didn't know.

There was nothing accidental about it. The only reason shooter missed was because she had turned around to reach for her cell phone. Only a professional could have that kind of accuracy. And only someone who was serious about killing her would use a professional.

She knew she had plenty of enemies, but the majority of them probably didn't even know she was in the States. You couldn't be someone in her position and _not_ have enemies. But still, she did not believe she had pissed off anyone _that_ much recently.

It hadn't even been a month since her return from Israel…

And who would have the balls to attempt to gun her down on the middle of the interstate in broad daylight? Even harder to answer was why.

She was brought out of her 'headspace', as Tony would call it, a few minutes later by the dinging of the elevator and the quiet voices of Ducky and Gibbs approaching. She looked over and saw that Tony was looking at her, his smile mostly faded. She briefly wondered if he had been watching her the entire time. But she did not dwell on that for long as Ducky rounded her desk to examine her injuries.

"Oh Ziva, what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

She was too exhausted and preoccupied to be irritated at the tone in his voice.

"It was a car crash, Ducky."

"Yes well I can see that my dear," he replied, indicating the ZNN feed that was repeatedly showing footage of Ziva's wrecked Mini and the surrounding emergency crews, each with workers swarming around under the flashing lights.

He then drew his attention to the large cut on her shoulder.

"And what did you do to earn that battle scar? That certainly doesn't look like the work of glass shards."

No, it certainly wasn't.

"It was…" she began, not sure of how to explain it. Then she figured that a direct approach was the best method. Ducky was listening to her expectantly as he began to patch her up.

"It was a bullet."

Tony's head shot up. She didn't meet his gaze.

"A bullet?" asked Ducky, stopping his cleaning of the wound for a brief second.

"Yes. Someone…I do not know who…shot at me. I lost control and it forced me to spin off."

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'out'. Does Gibbs know about this?"

"I do now," barked Gibbs, who had been talking to DiNozzo for a second but of course had heard every word with his unexplainable and incredibly sharp hearing.

He stared somewhat angrily (everything with Gibbs was somewhat angrily) at Ziva, looking for an explanation. Tony did the same, but his stare was a little less angry and a little more surprised. He glanced at Gibbs, who was now closing the small distance between the two groups of people.

"When were you planning on telling someone this, Officer David?"

Ziva had no answer to that.

If Ducky hadn't forced it out of her, she didn't know when she was going to tell Gibbs. And he was being formal. That meant he was pissed. Her car was ruined, someone had tried to kill her, and now Gibbs was upset with her. _Perfect_ morning.

"It has happened before Gibbs," she said lowly, knowing it wouldn't work.

"I don't give a damn about what happened before! You're not leaving this building until I say you can!"

Ziva did not appreciate being scolded like a child, but the look on Gibbs face was enough for her to keep her mouth shut and do what he told her to. Tony and McGee were still staring at her, but they both had subconsciously taken a step back from Gibbs.

"Let's go!" he barked once again, this time at the team collectively.

"Where to, Boss?" asked Tony while grabbing his gear.

"To find out who tried to take down one of my people, where else DiNozzo?"

Tony just snapped his head back down and finished gathering his stuff. Ziva was making her way towards the elevator when Gibbs turned around so that he was almost directly in Ziva's face. But she didn't back down right away.

"Not you. Stay here. Write it up."

Ziva was about to protest, but before she could open her mouth to start she was met with one of his infamous glares that quelled any desire she had to argue. She reluctantly retreated back to her desk and let her bag fall to the floor as she watched McGee head to the elevator after giving her a quick glance of pity. Ziva sighed to herself.

In spite of the circumstances being very different, she was having déjà vu of the time when Gibbs thought she had killed that suspect in the elevator. Now she was here alone, except for Ducky, who was still standing near her desk. He patted her good shoulder gently.

"Don't worry. He'll come around soon."

Ziva just nodded and thanked Ducky for patching up her injuries. He smiled in return (and told her she should eventually go to the hospital) before making his way to the elevator and back down to autopsy.

Now she was left alone in the squadroom. Feeling that she might as well get some work done while she could, she pulled out a stack of paperwork that was a few days overdue, planning to work on that after finishing what Gibbs told her to do.

Well, that didn't last long.

After a few minutes, she got bored and thought of something that she found very entertaining. She soon snuck behind Tony's desk and began looking through his drawers for his famed collection of snacks.

She grabbed as much as she could carry and brought them back to her desk, dumping them in one of her drawers. She knew it would annoy him, and that lifted her spirits in the smallest way. She smirked to herself as she bit into one of his protein bars.

Maybe she could convince Abby to tape his reaction.

* * *

_Thanks for reading :)_


	4. Orestes

**Disclaimer: **Nothing related to NCIS is mine. Nor will it ever be.

* * *

The walk down to Abby's lab was not a long one, but Ziva found herself half-wishing it was a little bit longer.

It's not that she didn't want to see Abby, after all it was Ziva's idea to go down there in the first place. It's just that she was still partly stuck in her thoughts and she wasn't entirely sure if she could handle Abby's bubbly eccentricity right now. But, she had gotten _insanely_ bored after finishing her paperwork (something Tony would be jealous of), and she knew Abby would be good company.

She hovered slightly at the doorway to the lab, but she figured that she might as well go through with it. There was nothing to do upstairs anyway, except mess with Tony. But she had already done that. She could mess with McGee, but that was more of Tony's realm, and Gibbs was already pissed at her. So that wasn't really an option. Instead she strode forward into Abby's lab, which was blaring music as usual.

Upon sensing someone's presence behind her, Abby spun around, pigtails flying with her, and smiled brightly at Ziva.

"Hey Ziva!"

Ziva smiled lightly in return, but it wasn't nearly as bright or genuine as Abby's. She extended the super-sized plastic cup she was holding to Abby and she accepted it gratefully.

"Hello Abby."

"Aw thanks you never bring me Caf-Pow!"

Ziva just smiled again and watched as Abby took a generous gulp of her prized caffeine and energetically placed it back on the counter before exploding into rapid speech.

Here it comes.

"If you're looking for the evidence from the last case, I already sealed it and put it in the evidence locker. Well actually, I asked Jimmy to because I was already behind in my work and I know how much Gibbs likes results, even though Team Gibbs isn't the only t—"

"Abby, slow down. I did not come down here for evidence, it's okay."

"Oh. Well then why _did_ you come down here?" she asked curiously, bringing her mind back to the immediate present. When Ziva didn't answer right away, Abby brightened up again.

"No one's hurt are they? I mean, besides you - McGee already told me about your accident. Oh wow that's a really nasty bruise. Did Ducky look at that?"

"Yes, everyone is fine, I ju—"

"Did Tony mess with your computer again?"

"No. Well, yes, but I already got back at him. I just came down for some…company."

"Company?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Okay. Well where's everyone else? Not that I think you should be spending time with them instead of me, I just thought you'd, you know, be with them."

Ziva sighed.

"They are working a case."

"Without you?"

"Gibbs sort of…banished me here. He is not very happy with me at the moment."

"Gibbs? Angry?" she joked, earning a small chuckle from her friend. "Actually now that you mention it, the Bossman did seem extra grumpy when he came down here. So, what did you do?"

"I…lied."

"To Gibbs? Ziva that's like next to impossible!"

"Well I didn't _really_ lie, I just…left out a few details."

"But he found out anyways with his magic powers, and now you're hiding down here. Got it."

Ziva nodded and half-shrugged, acknowledging that Abby was pretty much right. It was true that she was down here because she didn't like just sitting in the squad room alone, but she was also partially avoiding Gibbs. Partially.

Abby spoke up after a few seconds of silence where she turned back to her computer.

"So. What are these details that you tried to hide?"

Ziva opened her mouth to explain, but she hesitantly stopped. Abby raised her eyebrows.

Should she tell Abby about the highway sniper?

She knew that eventually Abby would wheedle it out of McGee, but she was still reluctant to tell her. She didn't want Abby to be angry with her too, as she was likely to take Gibbs's side. But then again Abby was also a very sympathetic person and she was probably going to find out soon enough anyway. She decided just to go with it.

"That I crashed because someone tried to shoot me."

"What? Like a sniper?" she asked loudly, confused and a little taken aback. Ziva merely nodded.

Wait for it…

"Oh Ziva that's not something you leave out! Oh my gosh you could've died! No wonder Gibbs is all mad! You haven't even been back three weeks!" cried Abby before enveloping Ziva (of course) in a very firm and very big hug.

Ziva was stunned for a second but then lightly patted Abby's back as a response to her sudden outburst of affection. Actually, it wasn't really that unexpected, but Abby's hugs always stunned Ziva.

She let go of Ziva after a few more seconds, but she kept her hands on Ziva's shoulders as she released her and looked her directly in the eye with that knowing smile she loved to show.

"I know exactly what you need. Follow me."

The Israeli was reluctant to obey, not entirely sure if this was going to end well for her or not. She would not put it past Abby to force her into a Gothic makeover or something of that nature.

But, she ended up following Abby through the sliding glass doors into the back part of the lab anyway. Before Ziva could even ask what Abby was doing, the girl whipped around with a huge smile on her face while holding her precious farting hippo. What was its name again?

"I present to you…the Almighty Bert."

Well, that answered that question. Only Abby would name a stuffed animal that farted something like Bert. Ziva didn't really know what to make of this...presentation.

"Um, thank you."

"You can use it as a pillow!" she added brightly, as if this explained everything.

"A…pillow?"

"Yes! Look, no offense Ziva, but you look like crap. You're all bruised and…battered. And you have computer eyes!"

She furrowed her eyebrows at Abby with a look of confusion.

"It's the look McGee gets whenever he's about to pass out from exhaustion from staring at the computer too long."

"Oh."

"Come on Gibbs won't even know it happened. It'll make you feel better."

Ziva sighed. Abby did have a point.

She _was_ tired and she had heard nothing from Gibbs or Tony so she assumed they were still very busy out doing…whatever they were doing. And she had done everything she could upstairs, so she figured maybe a quick bat nap couldn't do that much harm.

Bat nap? Cat nap? She had forgotten a few of these stupid sayings during her four-month stay in Israel. Whatever.

She reached out and took the hippo with a light smile on her face as a sign of appreciation.

"Alright."

"Yay! I knew you couldn't say no to Bert! Try not to drool on him!" Abby warned, a hint of a mischievous smirk on her face.

She happily turned around and made to go back to work but Ziva stopped her.

"Abby."

"Uh-huh?"

"Not a word to Gibbs."

"Not a peep. I promise," she replied, still smiling happily with her pigtails bouncing around from all the sudden movement.

Ziva nodded her acknowledgement and tried to ignore the fact that she had her doubts about Abby's promise. But - it was only a quick nap.

* * *

Thinking back on it, Ziva wasn't really sure why it started.

She thought maybe since she had banged her head, her brain was slightly messed up. Or maybe it was an effect of the pain medicine Ducky had forced her to take. Or maybe it something else that had no explanation. All three, perhaps.

However, she did know that when she fell asleep at Abby's desk while using her beloved Bert as a pillow, it was the first time the dreams started. And they weren't necessarily nightmares. Nightmares she had dealt with – she could certainly chalk that up to a number of things. But these were…different.

_The car was stifling. For the past twenty minutes it had been sitting patiently at the shadowy and poorly lit curb, so any remnants of the cool emitted from the air conditioning were long gone. The front tinted window on the passenger side was rolled down slightly, but it did little to dispel the heat creeping in. There was no breeze anyway. Small beads of sweat ran down the sides of Ziva's face, but she fought hard to keep from getting restless. Right now she needed to be in control. _

_And Ziva David was the epitome of control._

_The car was silent. No words were exchanged between the passengers stoically waiting in the cover of darkness. There was no place for amiable conversation. Not now. And nothing needed to be said. Ziva knew what she was doing. And she was patient. _

_Six more minutes of silence. _

_An elusive yet familiar feeling began creeping under her skin. It wasn't nervousness. Nerves were the equivalent of fear. And fear? The idea of fear at a time like this was not an option. _

_No, it wasn't nerves. Merely a tense anticipation. It was almost time, she could feel it. The car remained silent._

_Three more minutes. Then, quietly, but firmly, came the confirmation from the strategically placed asset._

_Sweat continued to run down Ziva's face - the back of her neck was soaked with salty moisture. She ignored it. Only a few more moments of sitting here. _

_The anticipatory awareness amplified. She rechecked her weapons. Flawless. She let out a still breath. _

_The passenger next to the unrolled window unlocked the doors. He turned around and Ziva made eye contact while looking into his face – the face of her father. Then came the go ahead. _

"_Time to go."_

_She nodded and gave her silent acknowledgment. There was no trace of hesitation in her body language. Only poise. Only control. Another mission, another kill. And for Ziva, it was worth every second. _

_She went to open the door but her father put up a hand. He looked like he was on the brink of saying something, but he turned around again and said nothing. _

_Ziva nodded again. She was used to her father being cryptic like that. Now he was turned around again, gazing fiercely at her, the same fire she felt running through her veins reflected in his eyes. Maybe not so cryptic._

"_Ziva."_

_She waited, her hand gripping the door handle expectantly._

"_Do what is necessary."_

_Another nod of confirmation. His words were short, but his eyes held something strange. But it was not something she needed to think of right now – she was on her game. Anticipation flowed warmly through her bloodstream._

"_Return when you are finished."_

_She didn't bother to nod this time as she stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her. _

_The air was stagnant but it was a small relief from the stiflingly close quarters of the car she had just been in. She swiftly began walking towards the back alley behind the building about a block down, her brisk footsteps echoing slightly on the dimly lit street. The shroud of complete darkness covering the sky made her approach even less noticeable. _

_She quickly stepped behind the concrete corner of the target building and crouched down low, kneeling on one knee. Her acute awareness of her position increased with each passing second._

_One minute passed. _

_She was waiting patiently, but her muscles were on edge, ready to spring into action at any moment. Her hand gripped the textured handle of her knife loosely, the sweat on her palms almost completely vanished. _

_She ran her index finger over the cool blade, waiting for the next move. _

_The orders came quickly through her earpiece. The instructions were clear and decisive. She had the all clear now. As if they would send her out of the car if she didn't. _

_Her heartbeat quickened. No fear, only intensity. _

_The man was approaching quickly. Like he was rushed, like he was trying to hide something. Coward. _

_This only added to Ziva's mounting adrenaline. The grip on her knife tightened. She could feel the energy pulsing through her. Her muscles were stiffened with tension. Tense, but ready. _

_Only a few more footsteps. The sound of his hurried pace only increased her senses. Like something animal, something instinctual. A few more seconds. _

_Now. _

_A cry of agony, a crumpled body. Something clattering to the ground. A look of confusion, and one of anguish. Blood on the ground, seeping towards the light. A step backwards, a glare. Blood and sweat, mixing on the skin. The stench of death. A figure lurking in the shadows. Another step backwards… _

Ziva's eyes shot open.

Her breathing wasn't heavy, but it wasn't calm either. It took a few seconds to reacquaint herself with reality. She lifted her head off the stuffed hippo she had been using as a pillow. It immediately made a farting noise, and Ziva jumped, but just barely. As a result she felt a stinging pain in her shoulder. Followed by the dull pain of a headache.

Then she remembered.

The crash this morning and the bullet grazing her shoulder – the attempt on her life. Gibbs. They had left, leaving her here. With Abby. And she had been convinced to take a quick nap.

And then that dream, if you could call it that. It was far too familiar and far too real for her to be unbothered by.

Nightmares revolved around fear, and the feelings evoked during that dream were not fearful. Not even close. It was something completely different and much harder to think about. But still, just a dream.

She wiped the few drops of sweat off her forehead and checked the clock. If she wasn't still slightly drowsy she would've cursed, colorfully.

Apparently twenty or so minutes had turned into four hours. Maybe Abby was right, maybe she had needed the rest. That brought a new line of thought.

Abby…why didn't she wake her?

Ziva stood up from the chair rather quickly and strode through the glass doors, glancing around for the forensic scientist. She found her towards the back, putting some sample in the gas chromatograph.

Abby didn't hear her approach due to the loud music playing in the background, which did nothing for Ziva's headache.

"Abby."

Abby spun around and almost dropped the sample she was holding, a look of dazed fear written on her features. Her immediate reaction was to snatch Bert out of Ziva's hands, as if protecting it from the intruder.

When she who it was she sighed in relief and placed her hippo back in its spot on the counter.

"Jeez Ziva you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that! I almost had a heart attack! Ducky would've had to autopsy me, and I hate autopsies!"

"Sorry," she muttered lowly. "Have the others come back yet?"

"Um…maybe," Abby spluttered, quickly grabbing her Caf-Pow and taking a generous and rather obnoxious sip to avoid further questions. Needless to say, it didn't work.

"Abby?"

"I'm _really _really sorry, you know I can't lie to him!"

"To who?" asked Ziva, legitimately confused.

"_Gibbs,"_ she whispered, glancing at the door, completely expecting him to stride in any second.

"Gibbs was down here?"

"Uh-huh."

"And, he knew I was here?"

"Yeah. And I swear, I didn't tell him! The man's magic, he just knows."

"And he…he did not try to wake me?"

"Oh no he was definitely going to, you know how stern and grumpy he gets. But I told him not to."

"Oh. Why not?"

"Well you…looked like you needed it. I mean you rolled over in your smashed up car a trillion times and someone shot at you! _And_ you hit your head. That's like, a get-out-of-jail free card when it comes to sleeping on the job. I think Gibbs agrees with me."

Ziva let out a disbelieving chuckle.

"You would be surprised Abby."

"No really! He just kinda looked at you and stood there all Gibbs-like with his coffee and then left."

"Are you sure?"

Now that, that was a little puzzling. Why would Gibbs do that? He wouldn't do that on a good day. And today was not a good day.

"Well yeah, you looked kinda…scrunchy."

"Scrunchy," she deadpanned, not getting it.

"You know like focused, and determined, and intense. Only you were sleeping, so it was kinda weird. No offense."

"No…it's okay. Um, thank you. For the pillow."

"Anytime! Bert's here whenever you need him."

Ziva smiled and nodded, then turned to leave the lab.

Her head was throbbing dully, and now she could add confusion to the dread of going upstairs to have Gibbs scold her, again. And still that strange dream. Abby had called her response scrunchy, but she wasn't sure what that meant exactly.

She closed the elevator doors and focused on going back into the squadroom to work the case. A case that involved her. That, plus the fact that Gibbs was _already_ irritated with her, was enough to put Ziva on edge.

Perfect.

* * *

_Thanks for reading :)_


	5. Stinkfist

**Disclaimer: **Sometimes I wonder if this is necessary, but I do it anyway. NCIS is not mine.

* * *

The doors of the elevator slid open, the quiet ding that signaled arrivals quickly bringing Ziva out of her trance.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, mentally preparing herself for whatever was heading her way once she reappeared in the squad room. She hoped that her efforts to reestablish her internal barriers would be unnecessary. But it was unlikely.

She stepped forward and silently but purposefully made her way over to her desk.

Tony was the first one to notice. He was sitting casually on the edge of his desk, remote in hand. There was an image on the plasma, but she didn't even have time to look at it before he spoke.

"Ah speak of the ninja, here she comes! Back from the dead, David? And here I was, thinking you and Abby were sharing stories, or weapons-firing techniques, or maybe even sp—"

A slap to the back of the head interrupted him. Gibbs briskly rounded the corner of the bullpen and strode over to his desk, but not before reprimanding Tony.

"Don't finish that sentence DiNozzo."

Tony immediately wiped the hopeful smirk off his face and spun around to continue looking at the pictures on the plasma. He glanced behind his shoulder and over at Ziva, who hadn't said anything since she had stepped off the elevator.

He expected her to either be looking at the photos with him, or smirking at him for being an idiot in front of Gibbs. Instead he spotted her behind her desk, viciously unscrewing a bottle of aspirin and popping a few pills in her mouth dry.

She grimaced for a brief moment, but Tony had already turned back around, pretending he hadn't seen. That would probably piss her off. And he didn't want her to know he was concerned either. That would also probably piss her off.

She closed the drawer of her desk shut and walked up slightly behind Tony to look at the pictures flashing across the screen. Gibbs stared at her for a minute, which she ignored, then joined the two where they were standing.

It was hardly noticeable, as was any uncomfortable display of emotion for her, but she shifted slightly at his approach. She didn't make eye contact either. Her eyes were completely focused on the screen in front of her, but Tony doubted that her mind was as focused as her eyes.

"What did you find?" she finally asked, turning her head slightly towards Tony so that she wasn't quite looking at him but so that he knew she was acknowledging him.

He glanced at Gibbs for approval, who simply nodded back. Ziva wasn't entirely sure what that silent exchange was about, but she had a pretty good idea.

Tony cleared his throat to speak and lifted the remote.

"Do you want the short and unnerving Gibbs version or the dramatically epic and comprehensive Gemcity-worthy version?" he asked, a small grin on his face.

Gibbs was staring. Ziva was looking at him impatiently. McGee was glaring.

"Right. Nevermind. I'll just give it to you DiNozzo fashion. We didn't find squat."

"Why were you looking for a…squat?"

"No Ziva it's an _expression_," he emphasized, mocking exasperation. Cue the _get to the point_ stare.

"But of course you wouldn't know that. It means we didn't find anything. Nada. Jack. Squat."

Ziva chuckled lowly at his apparent frustration.

"You sound a little bitter, Tony. What were you expecting?"

"Well I was hoping that after dealing with annoying local cops and mosquitoes for five hours that we could've gotten something – other than a few partial footprints. Turns out the highlight of my search was McGee looking for _Frog and Toad_ in the middle of the swamp. I tried to tell him they weren't real, but…"

"I dropped my flashlight in a puddle, okay? Would you stop bringing that up?"

"Whatever you say McSlippery."

Ziva rolled her eyes at them but neglected to comment.

The point to their banter was that they hadn't found anything and they were no closer to any leads than she was when she stumbled out of her wrecked and sinking car – dazed, limping, and yet sharply aware of the fact that she was lucky as hell all at the same time.

So they had nothing. No leads. But her instincts were prepared for that. Since she felt the shooter knew what he was doing, she wasn't expecting any substantial evidence to be left behind. And she was right – they had _squat_, as Tony had put it.

"Where did you find the footprints?" she asked out loud, not directed at any specific person.

She knew that if one of them knew, they all did. Well, everyone except her. Tony clicked the remote a few times and the pictures of the muddy footprints popped up on the screen.

She studied them, looking for something that would give away the identity of the sniper. But she came up with nothing. That's all they were – footprints.

"Behind some bushes near the overpass on the other side of the highway. Only thing in this guy's way would've been a few twigs. He had a clear shot. Lucky he missed," replied Tony, giving Ziva a sideways glance at his last statement. She didn't respond, so he took a second to take in her appearance.

She had changed out of her filthy and soaking wet clothes, obviously. Now she was wearing one those dark cotton pajama-like suits that Tony recognized as the same ones he had worn when he had the plague. He suppressed a small shudder. Plague. Not happy memories. At least Ziva wasn't dying of a rare infectious disease sent to her by an eco-friendly nut-job.

But, she did almost die.

A bullet projected by an untraceable sniper almost blew her head off. And she had the scar as a pleasant reminder. Then her car smashes down a hill, rolling the entire time. And all she had was a bruise and swollen ankle after that. How the hell did she walk away with only that?

She could've died, but she didn't. It was a close call, a near miss, a lucky break. It was an almost. And Tony knew what that was like. The plague. His car blowing up. The stupid _Chimera_. Being shot at every other damn day. All the times in between.

The thing about being a federal agent, he knew, was that you never saw death coming. It catches you when you're not looking, throws you down. Had he been aware that he was _almost_ going to die? No. Not really. And had Ziva known that a still-to-be-identified sniper would try to put a bullet through her head this morning? No.

The magnitude of it seemed ridiculously significant, and yet incomprehensively insignificant at the same time. Heavy and light. Life and death. She had gone through all of that, in about two minutes time. But she was still here.

"You did not find the bullet," she stated after a moment, already knowing the answer.

It was more of a statement than a question, but it just about summed up their whole search. They didn't find the bullet, which basically meant they didn't find anything. Which is what Tony had been saying the whole time. He just nodded at her in agreement.

"What do we do now Boss?" asked McGee, eagerly looking at Gibbs for some direction.

Gibbs stood still and remained staring at the screen for several charged seconds, the whole team's eyes fixed on him.

"We wait."

"Wait?"

"Yeah, McGee, we're gonna wait. Everyone go home, get some rest. Be back here tomorrow at zero-seven."

They shared a momentary brief glance with each other, a mix of surprise and acceptance outlined on their faces, but they quickly turned away and headed to their respective desks to gather their things to go home.

It seemed uncharacteristic of Gibbs to send them home without accomplishing anything, especially when it was clear this wasn't an ordinary case. But they weren't going to argue with him.

McGee was the first one to leave and head towards the elevator. Ziva was next.

"Ziva," called Gibbs, forcing her to turn around and meet the penetrative gaze of her boss. She waited expectantly.

"Be on your guard. Call me if anything happens."

She nodded and turned the corner quickly with her bag on her shoulder, half-running to catch the elevator with McGee. Tony picked up his coat and was about to follow them but Gibbs had called his name.

"Tony,"

Gibbs had used his first name. That meant either it was something important and or serious, or Gibbs was in a really good mood. He wasn't banking on the latter. He was unsure of what Gibbs was going to say, so he just stood sort of frozen in his position.

Gibbs closed the distance between them so that he was right next to Tony's desk.

"Follow her. Make sure nothing happens."

"You worried they might try again?"

"Right now, we don't even know who _they_ are. And it's not just them I'm worried about."

Tony hesitated for a second, his head in a half-nod position. He didn't really understand what his boss was saying. Then it hit him.

"Oh. You think _she's_ gonna try something?"

"Well I don't know, that's why you're gonna follow her."

"Right, got it Boss."

"And DiNozzo,"

"Yeah?"

"She doesn't need to know."

Tony nodded and walked towards the elevator to head out the building. He glanced back once at Gibbs, who was once again staring intently at the footprints. The elevator doors opened. He stood pensively for a moment, then pressed the button for the garage.

If he was honest with himself, he was not that comfortable with his 'assignment', if you could call it that.

Not only would it be difficult to follow Ziva, but he would be doing it behind her back. There were several possible outcomes to this situation, and Tony had been around long enough to know that the probability of this ending well was slim. Not nonexistent, but slim. But then, maybe his gut was wrong. After all he wasn't Gibbs, no matter how much he took after him.

He really hoped Ziva wouldn't do anything stupid, for her and his sake.

* * *

In all fairness, he had to give her credit.

Even when she wasn't intentionally trying to evade him, Ziva still managed to shake Tony off several times. He had hung back, being as inconspicuous as possible and trying to act casual. Just a regular guy enjoying a night out in the city. Yeah, sure. Because tailing your partner without her knowledge because someone tried to kill her and she has a knack for being rash at the most inopportune times is something every single guy does on a weeknight.

Casual? No. Far from it. And he certainly was not enjoying himself. In fact, as the night went on, his sense of foreboding increased.

It wasn't a definite feeling or some strange perception of the future, no matter how much he wished he had Jedi senses. It was just a thickness. Sitting at the bottom of his stomach, getting heavier and yet bearing no weight. It was like a knot, twisting as the hours went by. And the longer he followed her, the more ominous it got.

Currently he was sitting in one of the older company cars, as his was too easily recognizable, as were the newer Chargers. He tried to remain detached and patient, but it was proving difficult. He was getting restless, and he felt a strong desire to do something.

For hours he had been following her. To the convenience store (for one of her stupid smoothies), to the local precinct (she had a few things to straighten out), to the pharmacy (on Ducky's orders), and to some random hunting store where she left with a new boot knife (go figure).

And now, he was on a mildly busy street downtown where she was inside some café getting food. It was stops like these that made her seem much more human, and a little less ninja. And then he remembered why he was following her to these seemingly mundane locations. So he grew restless again.

He sat and watched intently as she walked out of the restaurant, paper bag in one hand and keys to the car she was borrowing from the agency in the other. As she approached her driver's side door, she quickly scanned the street for whatever she deemed suspicious.

From what he could tell, her gaze wandered over to some cars near Tony's, but thankfully his stakeout position remained unnoticed. Her eyes flitted to the security cameras placed along the street – even the 'hidden' ones. It was all very Jason Bourne. She would've laughed at him. Even when he was alone he made movie references.

She tossed her food bag in the car and quickly climbed into the driver's seat.

He waited for her to start up the engine again, ready to follow her back to what he assumed would be her apartment. Although, knowing Ziva, he wouldn't put it past her to stop by the gym to work out. At 11:30 at night. However, the engine never started and the expected sound of tires pulling away much too quickly never came.

Instead he heard the car door slam shut again and he shot his head up in time to see her stalking away down the sidewalk, zipping up her jacket as she went. Tony wasn't liking this.

While her left arm was swinging loosely by her side, her right one was lingering towards her right side. It was subtle, but Tony was trained to pick up on subtleties. And he knew Ziva too well. This was not the walk of someone who was going back inside because they forgot napkins.

No.

She was walking with a purpose, in her confident manner that radiated power. This walk was sharp, and clean. Had she gotten over her limp already? And although it was impossible to tell with the constant hum of the city, he was sure she was being silent. This was the walk of someone being stealthy. And that, definitely did not quell Tony's uneasiness.

Something was definitely not right, and she was getting closer to the end of the street and beyond Tony's vision. Nearby, a car started its engine and hovered for a few seconds, temporarily blocking his line of sight.

The knot in his stomach was getting worse.

Ziva just turned a corner, and now he couldn't see her. He considered calling Gibbs, but instantly dropped the idea as he realized that he had to act now. He grabbed his gun and quickly climbed out of his car, not bothering to lock it. He quickly crossed the street and looked inside the windows of her car.

Nothing of interest. Nothing that would cause her to drop everything and stalk down the street. Damn it.

He checked up and down the street a few times and noticed that the car from earlier had pulled out of its parking spot and was now rolling down the street, hardly making any noise for such a prominent SUV. Now it was seriously hindering his ability to see the corner his partner had just turned at.

He picked up the pace a little bit and stopped discreetly by the cross walk and looked to his right, scanning for her. Nothing, until…there.

She was down at the other end of the sidewalk, which was about thirty yards away. She was standing alone, close to the wall, almost as if frozen. She had her Sig out, holding it loosely by her side. But she wasn't pointing it at anything, and there was nothing around.

Even from a distance Tony could tell she was tense, like she was holding her breath. Waiting for something.

Her eyes scanned the windows of the buildings across from her, and she glanced in his direction for the smallest of seconds. He figured she probably saw him, but she didn't call him out on it. What was she waiting for?

He continued to watch her, unsure of whether he should approach or not. Something still felt off. He swore he felt the air getting hotter, and thicker. He took a tentative step forward, his own gun now drawn but kept relatively hidden at his side.

He took a few more slow steps forward and still Ziva did not move from the position she was holding. Tony did not like this, whatever it was. He tried to ease the knot in his stomach but the sound of an approaching car rounding the corner prevented him from doing so.

He glanced briefly at the vehicle, startled at the sudden proximity. It was a large black SUV, with tinted windows and a practically silent engine. The same one that had caused him to lose sight of Ziva before. He suddenly stopped walking.

The car accelerated relatively quietly, but Tony could feel the vibrations on the pavement. Then, barely a second later, another black SUV rolled out from behind a building on the street perpendicular to the side-street Ziva was on. She immediately raised her gun at the sudden vehicle's sudden appearance and the sound of tires squealing with urgency.

And then Tony knew exactly what was going on.

He started sprinting up the sidewalk, but was unable to catch up to the SUV approaching Ziva from behind. She didn't even know it was there. The screeching of tires rung in his ears and his heart was racing. The car ahead of him was now speeding towards her, taking its opportunity as its target was distracted with the other car.

"No no no Ziva NO!" he yelled as watched an arm extend out the window as the car slowed down slightly.

Upon hearing his shouts she made an attempt to whirl around, a look of confusion and intensity etched on her features. But as she turned her body she barely had time to blink as several gunshots hit her squarely in the chest and she was thrown backwards and onto the ground. Her gun clattered out of her hands.

Oh my god.

Tony sprinted onto the street and tried to fire shots at the tires and windows of the vehicle, but all of them missed wildly. He couldn't even get a license plate number.

He panted for a second at the end of the street and then turned back around, dreading what he would find.

Ziva was lying with her back on the sidewalk, almost completely still. Her arms were sprawled out on the ground and one of her legs was bent inwards and almost underneath her. She was barely moving the other one, the heel of her shoe digging into the pavement.

Tony approached quickly with a half-running, half-what-the-fuck-just-happened pace, not processing anything. He loudly dropped his gun to the ground and crouched beside her, muttering under his breath.

"Shit Ziva don't do this to me. Come on, you're a freaking ninja, I know. Come on."

While continuing his panicked rant he forcefully tore off her jacket, expecting to find a bloody mess of bullet holes and fabric. But the only thing he found was a dark blue bullet proof vest staring back at him, with three gold bullets scattered on the left side of her vest.

First came the shock.

He was absolutely and utterly shocked. He had no idea she had been wearing a vest. No idea. And now his mind was numb. He didn't know what to say, and he was having trouble forming thoughts. He dropped his hands, which he had raised to put pressure on her wounds. Oh. My. _God_.

And then came the release. He let out a long drawn out breath and couldn't help but grin stupidly, letting out a relieved chuckle at an octave slightly higher than normal. He briefly glanced at the sky and then back down at her, breathing deeply, out of reflex.

He scooted a little bit closer, practically hovering over her.

"Hey," he said calmly, tapping the side of her face lightly. She shifted a little bit and he thought he heard a soft groan, but she didn't open her eyes.

He checked her pulse just to be thorough. More relief washed over him as he felt the beating underneath his fingers.

"Hey, Ziva," he said again, this time a little louder. He tapped her face again, trying to force her back to full awareness. This time she opened her eyes and looked at Tony, the same look of confusion still on her features.

And she immediately started coughing. She tried to sit up but she failed as she continued to cough violently and she grimaced as she managed to roll over partially. Tony helped pull her off the ground by the shoulders of her vest, while her coughing fit continued.

She made to take the vest off, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but Tony pushed her arm back down.

"Leave it. They could come back. Gibbs would kill me."

She looked like she might hit him for a second, glaring, but the moment quickly dissipated as her coughing started up again.

He half-dragged her back to where his car was, supporting some of her weight as she continued to struggle with normal breathing. She had yet to say anything.

He quickly crossed the street, one hand supporting his partner and the other hand holding his Sig. He still wasn't sure if they were out of the woods yet, and he practically shoved her in the passenger side of his car. He ran around and quickly ignited the engine, peeling out of the parking lot.

They rode in charged silence for a few minutes, with the exception of Ziva coughing. But the previously harsh noises were much lighter, much less violent, and much less frequent.

She hadn't moved in a couple minutes, but Tony had been too focused on making sure the SUVs were gone and getting onto the empty highway and out of sight that he hadn't noticed her stillness. But now that they were in relative safety, he glanced at his partner to make sure she was okay.

Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing deeply. She had undone the front of the vest, so now the sides were hanging open loosely. The left side still had three gold bullets still embedded deep in the fibers of the vest. Tony frowned.

One of her hands was resting on her lap, with the other gently prodding the wound on her shoulder. She winced as her fingers made contact, but she quickly covered it up. Even with her eyes closed, she knew Tony was watching her.

Before he could open his mouth to say anything, she dropped her hand and opened her eyes.

"You," she began, closing her eyes again tiredly as she shifted in her seat, grimacing as she did so. "Should have practiced more, Tony."

Tony didn't know what to make of that. Not at all what he was expecting. But, you know, Ziva was a little unpredictable.

"What?"

"After failing the first time you tried to follow me, you should have learned."

"That was three years ago. And you're welcome," he replied dryly, turning his attention back to the road. Now he was slightly irritated. Of course she knew he was following her. She always freaking knew.

"You want me to thank you for going behind my back and not trusting me? You could have just asked Tony."

"Ask you what? Oh, hey, are you planning on doing anything stupid that could jeopardize your safety tonight? You know, like _running off without backup and not telling anyone what's going on_?"

"I did not know what was going on either! I was trying to figure it out, it did not feel right. Unlike _you_, who sat in your car sneaking around all night!"

They were both angry now, tempers rising as the drive went on. Neither was truly mad, deep down, at each other. But the night, hell the entire day's events had caught up with them, and they were taking it out on the closest thing. Each other.

But at Ziva's unflinching glare and hidden accusation, Tony's hardened features softened and he tried to take the anger out of his tone.

"I was just doing what Gibbs wanted."

He knew it sounded dumb, but it was the truth. He was given an order. And now he was realizing, maybe he should spend more time questioning them every once in a while. This wasn't the first time following orders screwed something up. Luckily this time no one was dead.

As Ziva was taking his words and expression in, she sighed.

"Gibbs told you to do this?" she asked, the slightest tone of disbelief in her voice. But she knew she shouldn't have been surprised. Still, that didn't make it easy.

"He was worried about you," came Tony's reply as they exited the freeway. He kept the _and so was I_ part of that sentence to himself.

She said nothing in response.

"Where are we going?" she finally asked, after realizing that they were not en route to either NCIS headquarters or either of their apartments.

"Gibbs," replied Tony, the emotion that had been clearly evident in his voice a few minutes earlier now gone.

Gibbs. Not _to meet with Gibbs_, or _to Gibbs's house_, just Gibbs. As if saying that one word was enough. For them, it was. Ziva understood.

The rest of the car ride remained mutually silent, as they both felt that talking would only end up in an argument. Tony did however, turn on the radio to get rid of some of the tension, muttering about crappy music as he flipped through stations.

Ziva just let him be as she rested her head against the headrest and closed her eyes for a few minutes, trying to create some order to her thoughts. She ignored the dull ache in her chest and shoulder.

They pulled up quietly into Gibbs driveway, and Tony waited a second before killing the engine.

Ziva was already out of the car by the time he exited the drivers' seat. Upon shutting the door he realized that there was another unfamiliar car already parked in the driveway. His partner had seen it too, and was walking over to it, examining it curiously.

"Is McGee here as well? I did not realize he got a new car."

"No, he would've told Abby, who would've told me. And the Probie would never drive something like this. Too official and generic-looking. Remember his Porsche?"

Then Tony realized. Official.

"Wait a second," began Ziva, who instinctively took a step backward and checked her surroundings, her hand lingering towards her right side, as he had seen her do earlier. "I recognize this car!"

"One of us isn't being framed again are we? Cause I'm really getting sick of it."

"I highly doubt it, Gibbs would have found a way to contact us."

"So then what the hell is the FBI doing here?"

* * *

_Thanks for reading :)_


	6. Back

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize it, it's not mine. But somehow I think the fact that this website is called FFN gives that away anyways. Oh well :)

* * *

"Are you sure just waltzing down there is a good idea?" asked an irritated Tony to Ziva as she quickly made her way towards the basement.

He wanted to comment on how it was almost pathetic that they knew straight where to go, but he kept it to himself. It wouldn't help either of them.

From the second they'd gotten out of the car, Ziva hadn't listened to anything he'd said. He'd tried to tell her they should call Gibbs ("We are at his house, Tony. I do not think it matters."), check the back of the house just incase ("For what? A SWAT team?"), or have their weapons out (at this, she laughed).

Now she was purposefully walking over to the basement door, which was slightly ajar. They heard voices, but they were too quiet to understand. Well, no yelling was probably a good sign.

She lifted up her hand to push the door open, but Tony grabbed her shoulder roughly before she could complete the action and turned her around so that she was looking directly at him.

"Hey!" he half-shouted, hoping to take her attention away from whatever was going on in her head.

"What!?" she whispered back furiously, trying to hide the fleeting wince that had passed over her features when he grabbed her bad shoulder.

"What about all those other times when the good ol' FBI interfered? Have you seriously forgotten that?"

"Of course not! But we are here anyway, and _I_ need answers."

"Well so do I, but it's not _me _who's at risk here!"

"Okay fine! You want to tell me what to do, is that it?"

He released her shoulder. That wasn't what he meant. She didn't move, but kept glaring at him.

"I'm just asking you to be careful, Ziva."

"I am always _careful_," she scoffed, as if this was perfectly obvious.

"You were almost killed. Twice."

She was still glaring. Still unhappy with him. The tension was radiating off the both of them, and he could almost feel her mind spinning with whatever it was she was going to say.

The back of his mind realized the voices downstairs had stopped, but he kept his gaze on his willful partner.

"Water under the fridge, yes?"

He didn't bother to correct her. He didn't want to break the eye contact, as if doing so would break the sincerity of his actions. As if not doing so would give something away.

Ziva took a small step forward and leaned in so that she was right in his face.

"If you touch that shoulder again, I will kill you."

She turned around and pushed open the door, not waiting for him to follow her or call her back.

While these threats were not rare, exactly, they always managed to put an end to any conversation. So Tony hesitated, slightly, but then followed her down the stairs, not really looking forward to whatever was waiting for him.

The first thing that greeted his eyes when they turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs was Gibbs. He was standing next to his boat, just looking at them, expressionless but as if waiting for something. A bottle of bourbon and a sanding block were lying on the workbench a few feet away.

And there's the catch.

Sitting behind him on a wooden stool was Fornell, dressed in the typical black suit and holding a mug. And standing stoically next to him was a woman, definitely another agent. Tony knew he recognized her face, but it took him a second to place her. He smiled at them with his characteristic quasi-false charm, taking a small step forward.

"Toby! Not in trouble again, are we? And you brought Special Agent Krieger! Lovely to see you again m'lady! To what do I owe this pleasure?"

He ignored Ziva looking at him like he was an idiot.

"It's not about you, DiNotzo," responded Fornell, mispronouncing Tony's name as usual and looking at him with that 'I'm amused' yet 'stop talking now' smirk.

He rebounded quickly and straightened up a little, all too aware of Gibbs's proximity. Agent Krieger smiled to herself. Tony cleared his throat.

"Right, well, what brings our federal brethren to Gibbs's basement, sir?"

"Officer David."

He couldn't see her, but Tony knew she had stiffened, if only slightly. It was a sort of a partner-sixth-sense kind of thing.

He looked over at Gibbs, unsure of what to say, or reveal, to Fornell. He didn't know exactly why they were here or what they knew. And he wasn't going to take Fornell's word for it that they weren't in some sort of trouble.

"Boss?" he asked after turning his head to face Gibbs, looking for some direction.

Gibbs glanced briefly at Fornell, whose expression still hadn't changed.

"Come here, both of you," replied Gibbs, signaling for Tony and Ziva, who had been hanging back, to come closer. They both approached Gibbs with looks of mild confusion.

Instead of Gibbs saying anything, they were both greeted with slaps to the back of the head.

As usual, Tony felt he deserved it, even though he had no idea exactly what he was being hit for. Ziva, however, did not appreciate it.

"Gibbs?" she asked, incredulous.

"For doing something stupid."

"Hold on, I w—"

He headslapped her again. Now she was gaping at him. Tony unsuccessfully tried to hold back his laugh. He stole a glance at Fornell, who looked highly amused now.

"That was for not calling me! Both of you!" said Gibbs, who was now glaring sternly at both of them. Tony immediately stopped smiling. How the hell did he even know something happened?

"Well, you see, I was going to, but, kinda funny really, but, I mean, you know how it is……it was her idea!" Tony finally stammered out, eyes widening and pointing at Ziva, who now turned her glare on him.

_Such_ a child.

Gibbs just looked at him, not satisfied. Tony spun on his heel and smiled falsely at the FBI agents, trying desperately to change the subject.

"Boss, I'm sure Agent Fornell is here for a reason, right?"

"I was getting to that DiNozzo," replied Gibbs menacingly, the reprimanding tone still prevalent in his voice.

He left Tony and Ziva standing there and moved to go closer to Tobias. He ignored the sound of an elbow hitting someone's side and the muffled "ow!" that followed him as he turned his back.

"Jethro, DiNotzo, David. My colleague and I came here to talk," started Fornell, leading them off.

Gibbs flashed Tony and Ziva a look that clearly told them to shut up and pay attention.

"About?" asked Gibbs, although he had an idea.

"For the past few weeks my team has been assigned to tracking the movements of a terrorist cell with unnatural amounts of financial activity in several banks in the DC area."

"Aren't you a little old to be taking on that kinda thing, Tobias?" joked Gibbs, to which Fornell chuckled at.

"The cell is suspected of having strong ties to Hamas. Given my history with…that," he implied, letting his words speak for themselves. They all knew what he was talking about anyway. "Director thought I was the best man for the job."

"Doesn't explain why you're in my basement though. What happened?" asked Gibbs, never one to make unnecessary conversation.

"Five days ago we raided a warehouse by the docks that we suspected some of the cell was working out of. We found explosives, automatic weapons, computers, bugs, you name it. Anything you'd need for a major operation."

"You know what they're planning?"

Fornell shook his head, giving a little shrug.

"Not yet. When we got there, there wasn't much time to talk. The guys that were there were killed in the raid."

"So you don't know the plans, and you have no way of knowing if there's anyone else involved. There a reason you're telling me this?"

"Ah you underestimate me Gibbs. We have audio strategically planted inside one of the banks a few of their guys frequent. We suspect what's left of the group has temporarily relocated to a new safehouse. My people are trying to work out what their next move is."

Gibbs nodded a little bit, waiting for Fornell to continue. Tony was not as patient.

"Soooo, what does this have to do with us? Or Ziva?"

"Hang on I was getting there."

Tony waited.

"The past few days we've been working around the clock trying to coordinate our next raid and the cell's new location. There's been an unusual amount of chatter recently, and it's taking up a hell of a lot of time. And resources."

"Chatter about what?"

"By this time they know someone is onto them. Problem is, they suspect the wrong people."

Wait, seriously? Does that even happen?

"With no one alive to say who discovered them, they can only guess. This is where it gets interesting."

Tony laughed to himself. Oh, only _now _it gets interesting. Gibbs shot him a glance. Fornell continued.

"Somehow they know about Officer David's liaison position with NCIS and they believe Mossad and NCIS are behind the raids and counterattacks. Our translations of gathered intel make it very clear that they want David out of the way."

"Why only her? I mean how do they know about her?" asked Tony, his curiosity getting the best of him. He knew her position wasn't exactly classified, but still.

He stole a glance at Ziva, who still looked professional as ever. The only thing that gave her away, at least to Tony, was that look in her eye. The same look she gets when she's hiding something. Like, emotions.

"Doesn't take a genius to find someone these days. And we all know how much Hamas loves Israelis, too."

Gibbs smirked the tiniest bit, but you could tell in his tone that he was not amused.

Tony blew out a small breath. Fornell was right. He only needed to think about what happened less than an hour ago to remind him of that.

"They believe killing Officer David will cause enough damage between Mossad and NCIS that the agencies will stop their pursuit. They think the distraction will leave them an open opportunity to strike and eliminate a threat at the same time."

There was silence for a few moments, in which everyone just took it all in.

"Well thanks for the heads up," began Gibbs, taking a sip of his bourbon from his mug. He swallowed it down and continued.

"But my agent was already almost killed. Yesterday would've been nice."

"Our analysts only finished translating the chatter this afternoon. Special Agent Krieger and myself came by as soon as we were available."

"Is this little visit on or off the record?"

"Off. You know how it is. Personally I've never cared for bureau's politics myself. And I know you don't like to waste any time."

Gibbs laughed. Yeah, he understood.

There was silence for a few seconds but it was interrupted by a gasp coming from Agent Krieger.

"Ziva, you're bleeding!"

Ziva looked surprised for a second, then looked down at her shirt, which was now partially soaked through with blood from her shoulder.

"It is nothing. The wound must have reopened," she said, pulling off the vest that was hanging loosely off her shoulders. She had forgotten she was still wearing it.

Gibbs pulled out a stool and kicked it over to where she was standing, which was pretty close to the workbench anyways.

"Sit," he said, indicating the stool with a nod of his head while grabbing a towel for her from one of the shelves. "Talk."

She gazed questioningly at him for a second, but when he pressed the towel lightly against her shoulder and looked at her with a mixture of perception and sincerity, she left any doubts behind. And she did feel bad about not telling him earlier, and getting upset with Tony. Though that really didn't have to do with Gibbs.

"After work I stopped at my apartment to get some clothes. I went back out to do some errands, and I noticed someone following me."

Tony avoided looking at her, and pretended not to notice his boss's disapproving glance. Gibbs nodded at her to continue.

"On my last stop I was walking back towards the car, and something did not feel right. I do not know what, but the street, the time, the cars, it was just wrong. One of your gut feelings, yes?"

He nodded again and waited for her to keep talking. Tony kept silent about how he had experienced the same feeling. Probably their partner-sixth-sense thing, not to mention that her reaction to the situation was partly what caused it in him.

"I got out of the car because I wanted to draw out whoever was following me. I did not know it would end so badly."

"Okay, so what happened?"

"I walked down the street a little bit and waited at the corner. I felt that somebody was close to me, so I kept waiting. Then a dark SUV, I did not get a plate number, came from behind the building. Out of instinct I moved to defend myself and did not notice the other car approaching me from behind. I heard someone yelling, and I realized too late that it was an ambush. The other car opened fire before I could react."

Tony scowled to himself. His favorite part of the story.

"And DiNozzo? Where was he?"

He opened his mouth to interject but Ziva beat him to it.

"Tony followed me down the street and tried to warn me. But like I said, it was too late. But I did not tell him what I was doing, so it is not his fault Gibbs! I should have called you."

She knew better than to apologize, but she was looking for Gibbs to say _something_.

Instead he just let her take over holding the towel against her shoulder and glanced back at Tony with a look she couldn't see clearly.

"And the vest?"

"I am always prepared. Especially after this morning."

Tony neglected to comment that bulletproof vests didn't cover everything, and even if she had been wearing it this morning, she'd _still_ be in autopsy with a hole through her temple. But by some stroke of luck she wasn't, so he kept his mouth shut. And no one needed reminding of past…events. Or people.

"You get anything off the cars?" asked Gibbs, changing the subject and turning towards his senior field agent.

"Nothing except the model and color Boss. I was more concerned with making sure Ziva wasn't dying."

Although he chose not to elaborate on it, Tony knew his explanation had been an oversimplification.

Making sure Ziva wasn't dying was not the equivalent of watching your partner take three slugs to the chest and truly believing, actually _believing_ that she was dead, or close to it. It had been short, fleeting. But for a moment, one agonizing and disgusting moment, he had believed she was dead. He had felt it in his stomach, in his head. He had felt it, _breathed_ it.

It had been real, if only for a moment.

"Anything else Tobias?" asked Gibbs, breaking the temporary yet expectant silence. Tony kept his eyes on Ziva.

"This has everything my people have collected," replied Fornell, getting up from his seat and handing Gibbs a small flash drive. Gibbs took it in his hand and examined it a little, as if he'd never seen anything like it before.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

Gibbs looked at it skeptically for a minute, but passed whatever doubts he had and pocketed it.

"Now if you'll excuse us," began Fornell, grabbing his coat from the workbench and signaling Agent Krieger to follow him. "I have to report back to my director. He thinks we're on a late night coffee run."

Gibbs smirked in response and watched as Fornell headed up the stairs.

"It was nice to see you again, Tony. You too Ziva," added Agent Krieger, who briefly glanced at Gibbs with a small smile. He just nodded. Tony and Ziva did the same, but unlike Gibbs, they returned the smiles.

By this time, Fornell was about to walk out the basement door at the top of the stairs.

"Oh and Jethro," he started, but was cut off by Gibbs raising his mug to his friend, eyes alight with humor.

"What conversation?" asked Gibbs, who received a dismissive wave of the hand from Fornell in return.

There was a tense silence that followed.

Tony still kept his eyes on Ziva, but she wasn't looking at him or Gibbs. Gibbs was staring intensely at them both, and yet his eyes gave nothing away.

To anyone else, this would seem highly unusual and cause for concern, but not to Tony. He was far too used to the straightforward stares and the intimidating demeanor. And honestly, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. So for now, he was just waiting. Waiting for Gibbs to talk. Yell. Demand without speaking.

"DiNozzo," he barked finally without turning his head to address Tony.

"Yeah Boss?"

Ziva's head shot up too, with the ghost of some foreign emotion on her face. And that's what it was. A ghost. Because as soon he thought he saw it, it was gone, and the only thing left was the warmth of chocolate brown hiding the chill of uncertainty and _almost_.

"Get the car ready."

Tony wanted to question. He wanted to protest. He wanted to stand his ground, to be involved. He was senior field agent, a criminal investigator. He was experienced, capable. Proud. Resourceful. Headstrong, even. He was Anthony DiNozzo. He wanted to be here.

But Gibbs was Gibbs, so he did as he was told. He quickly walked up the stairs, taking Ziva's vest with him.

Ziva waits.

Waits for Gibbs to reprimand her. Waits for him to question her. Waits for _something_. Because just as Gibbs is Gibbs and Tony is Tony, she is Ziva. And Ziva David is patient. Perceptive. Capable. Perhaps just as headstrong as Tony.

But not now. Not after everything that's been thrown at her in the past twenty-four hours. Now she wants to wait. So she does.

"I didn't have him follow you because I didn't trust you Ziva," stated Gibbs.

And there it was.

Gibbs could always read her. Those blue eyes, which were so unforgiving, yet so powerful, saw right through her. And as difficult as that was to accept, Ziva knew. He wasn't lying. He wouldn't.

"You did not think I could handle the situation?" she asked back, her voice full of biting defiance, although in her heart she knew what she said wasn't true.

"No. I know you are extremely capable of handling it. That's why I had someone on your six."

"What? Gibbs, that makes no sense."

Gibbs took a step closer so that he was dangerously close to her. Well, if he had been angry, it would've been dangerous. But he wasn't angry. Not really.

"Would you have done anything different if I _hadn't_ sent Tony to follow you?"

Silence.

"No."

No. A one word answer. Simple, easy. The way the truth should be, but often isn't.

If Tony had been sitting right next to her, yelling at her, she still would've gotten out of the car. She still would've taken three to the chest. Only now she would probably _still_ be on that deserted street trying to catch her breath. She would still be in danger. And who would've been responsible for that predicament? Only her.

Shit. Now she understood. And Gibbs? Gibbs had understood before any of it even happened.

"I'm sorry, Gibbs," she let out finally, feeling guilty for several things all at once. Things that had nothing to do with highway snipers or protective partners or bulletproof vests. She felt an ache in her heart that she couldn't explain.

"Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness."

Of course.

She, like him, hated weakness. Perhaps that's why he understood her so well. The two of them were anything but weak. But she couldn't help but think that it wasn't strength that had her gasping for air on a dirty sidewalk.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, sincerely hoping that whatever he told her to do could wait until she had some decent sleep. The nap she'd had earlier had left her feeling worse than before.

"Find some damn answers to this thing," he replied in his characteristic no-nonsense fashion as he turned and practically ran up the stairs, leaving no room for Ziva to question. Not that she would've anyways. It was too late and she was too tired.

So instead she followed him up the stairs, albeit somewhat slower thanks to her aching chest and stinging shoulder. She cursed herself for not grabbing her pain meds from her car before Tony whisked her off to Gibbs's house.

She closed the front door behind her without bothering to lock it. Just one of the many things you learned about Gibbs without him telling you. She quickly made her way to where the car was, engine rumbling lowly and headlights dimmed.

Upon seeing that Gibbs was behind the wheel and Tony was sitting in the passenger seat, she slid into the backseat and shut the car door as silently as she could. Gibbs swiftly backed out of his driveway and started speeding down the road, not heeding Tony's comments about how Ziva's already been in one wreck today.

"DiNozzo," he half-yelled over Tony's mutterings. Tony braced himself for a headslap when he saw Gibbs's arm move, but it never came.

Instead Gibbs reached to his side and tossed Tony his cell phone, which landed ungracefully in his lap. Tony just looked at it for a few seconds.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Call Fornell back. Tell him we're going to Israel."

* * *

_Thanks for reading :)_


	7. Darkness

**Disclaimer:**Anything that's NCIS or related to it is not mine. Just to clear up any confusion. Kidding.

_

* * *

_

The orders came quickly through her earpiece. The instructions were clear and decisive. She had the all clear now. As if they would send her out of the car if she didn't.

_Her heartbeat quickened. No fear, only intensity. _

_The man was approaching quickly. Like he was rushed, like he was trying to hide something. Coward. _

_This only added to Ziva's mounting adrenaline. The grip on her knife tightened. She could feel the energy pulsing through her. Her muscles were stiffened with tension. Tense, but ready. _

_Only a few more footsteps. The sound of his hurried pace only increased her senses. Like something animal, something instinctual. A few more seconds. Now. _

_Her knife plunged upwards, deep into the right side of his chest. A cry of painful agony pierced the silence of the dark atmosphere, circling and echoing. Taunting. _

_His wasted body crumpled onto the concrete, one hand frantically grasping his crimson-stained chest. The sticky essence of red oozed between his fingers, leaving his breaths ragged and panicked. _

_His cell phone, screen still flipped open, clattered to the ground and away from his wildly moving hand. She noticed it only for a second, her observance and training ground into her glance. The caller ID was flashing on the barely illuminated screen. It was a number she recognized. _

_Something flipped on in her head and pieces came out of nowhere and began forming in her mind. Document and memories. Orders. A connection._

_She stumbled backwards in shock, her grip on her knife failing. _

_A look of confusion, and one of anguish. Blood on the ground, seeping towards the light. A step backwards, a glare. Blood and sweat, mixing on the skin. The stench of death. A figure lurking in the shadows, saying something. What? Another step backwards… _

Her eyes flew open rapidly, pupils constricting at the sudden change in light. Her breathing was controlled, rhythmic even. But it wasn't calm. It took a few seconds for her to orient herself, but she lifted her head off the side of the wall and looked at what was around her.

Tan leather, bright light, and a small window. The dull roar of engines. Airplane. Private jet, to be exact, lent to them by someone who owed Vance a favor. It was much better than hitching a ride on a military cargo plane, and it allowed them to fly relatively unnoticed.

She took a deep breath, and turned to take in the rest of her surroundings. It was partly out of curiosity, and partly out of habit. Two seats over from her, someone was already looking at her. When he caught her eye, he beamed happily and instantly she was hit with vibes of playful charm.

"Morning!" he added cheerfully, with an air of knowing something she didn't. Of course.

She had been awake for less than a minute and already she was being assaulted by his contagious goofiness. She sighed.

"Why were you staring at me, Tony?" she asked, irritated. It was hard to wake up from _that_, find Tony grinning at you, and not be irritated.

"Just wondering what you were dreaming about. Cause you were a little jumpy there for a second."

Ziva, seeing this as the perfect opportunity to avoid talking to Tony about what was going on inside her head, wasted no time in taking his bait. She leaned in over the seat separating them and got close to his ear.

"I was dreaming about you," she whispered huskily, breathing down his neck. He turned his head a little and raised his eyebrows.

She smirked to herself and continued. He was so easy to manipulate sometimes.

"You were naked," she whispered again, getting even quieter and earning even more subtle excitement played out on Tony's face.

"Really…" he purred back, playing along, turning to face her with his own knowing grin. She nodded softly.

"Mmm, it was the _worst_ nightmare I've ever had," she whispered back, raising her eyebrows as she did so. He kept grinning at her, but his features fell ever so slightly.

From the seats behind them, they heard McGee snort. He was reading a magazine but had the pleasure of hearing their entire conversation.

"Think that's funny McGiggles?" asked Tony in his authoritative tone, raising his voice a little.

"Yeah, actually I do," replied McGee calmly, who never took his eyes off his magazine.

"Well you know what I think is funny?" asked Tony semi-angrily. McGee rolled his eyes. A second later the magazine was snatched out of his hands.

"Hey!"

"I think it's funny that you're reading a magazine, when you could be talking to me. What is this, _Getting Some for Geeks_?" asked a laughing Tony, who was highly amused with himself.

"Yeah, Tony, that's it," replied McGee sarcastically, who was reaching over the headrest in an effort to steal back his magazine, whose real title had something to do with forensics and engineering.

Tony was now holding it behind him so that McGee couldn't reach it, although the younger agent was desperately trying. He was standing up now, leaning roughly over Tony.

"Ah if only you'd run those few extra miles Probie, then you'd be strong enough to get it."

"Would you give it back before I have Ziva hurt you?"

Tony laughed.

"She wouldn't do that Timmy, because unfortunately for you, she's on my side. Right?" he asked in a semi-panicked voice, turning to Ziva to make sure she really _was_ on his side.

She smirked back, but didn't answer.

"Tony! Just give it back, okay?" yelled McGee, whose face was now turning red in his efforts to thwart the annoying person holding his magazine hostage. He had climbed halfway over the seat when a yell from the back of the plane interrupted them.

"HEY!" shouted Gibbs, who had been having a hushed conversation with Fornell.

The rest of the people on the plane, which consisted of only FBI agents on Fornell's team, all looked up at the loud noise.

"Would you three shut up?" he asked angrily, sending one of his famous glares in their direction. All three of them, who had frozen in their positions at the sound of Gibbs's voice, nodded half-fearfully.

When Gibbs sat back down, McGee snatched his magazine back in a huff. He went back to reading silently, intent on ignoring Tony.

Ziva glanced at the rest of the people on the plane, most of whom she didn't know. Except for Agent Krieger, who gave her a small wave from her seat in the back. Ziva smiled in return and turned back around only to find Tony staring at her, again.

"What _now_?"

He was looking at her with a serious expression, any indication of his previous banter gone. For the most part.

"Before McGoo interrupted us I had a real question for you."

"What?" she snapped back, sincerely hoping it wasn't something she didn't feel like answering.

"Tell me, Ziva, why are we going to Israel again?"

She just looked at him for a second, trying to gauge if he was _actually_ serious. He was.

"Did you listen to anything Gibbs said?"

"That was three days ago! And things were a little hazy, because thanks to you, I got just about _no_ sleep!"

"You chose to sleep on the couch. It is not my fault the pillows in the safehouse was uncomfortable."

"Okay fine. But can you just give me a refresher?"

Ziva rolled her eyes.

The last few days had been…hectic, to say the least. What with Ducky constantly checking up on her injuries, Gibbs ordering her to stay in a safehouse with Tony as her backup (which was exhausting in itself), Fornell's people flitting in and out of the office to work on the intel, and Abby throwing them a surprise 'Good Luck in Israel' party, it was a miracle that Ziva found any time to sleep.

Oh, that's right, she didn't. At least not much. Not wanting to think about the dream responsible for her restless nights, she turned back to Tony to give him his desired 'refresher'.

"I was attacked twice, yes?" she started, making sure he got the entire picture.

"Well yeah, I was there," he replied naturally, as if the current situation was normal and wasn't affecting either of them.

Neither wanted to discuss that, so she kept going.

"With security being somewhat, _tighter_, around us, it has been difficult to get any work done. So Gibbs thinks it would be easier to find out _who_ is behind this if we don't have to worry about my safety in DC."

Tony nodded, but he still looked hesitant. He was gazing intently at his partner now, but it was difficult to tell if the concern in his features was meant for their spontaneous trip to Israel, or for her.

"And if they find out you've left the states?"

She held his gaze for a moment, preparing to give Tony her professional outlook on the entire situation. Because the second she let on to him about what she was really thinking, it would open the door for a number of things she did not want to deal with.

She looked him straight in the eye as she continued with assurance.

"Then it will bring them right to Israel, which is where all the gathered intelligence leads back to anyway."

"Oh," he replied, the connections falling into place inside his head. He was quiet for a few seconds.

"So we're here to find the source of the threat and shut it down, while in the meantime we use you as bait?"

Ziva didn't know how to respond to that. She didn't have to, because apparently Tony wasn't done yet.

"Well I say there's a lot of holes in this plan. For example, it has _every_ possibility of ending badly."

And _oh_ how we wanted to add _especially__for__you_, but he couldn't. As her partner, the half self-appointed, half-ordered guardian of her six, he wanted to say it. But he couldn't.

Ziva didn't have a chance to reply to his statement. Gibbs walked by the both of them and towards the front of the plane, giving Tony a headslap as he went. This has to be a new record.

"We're enlisting Mossad's help DiNozzo. How's that for a plan?"

"That's a very good plan, of course Boss," he replied dutifully.

Ziva couldn't help but smile slightly to herself. Such a _good_ little senior field agent. When Gibbs returned a few minutes later, she sat up a little straighter to get his attention.

"Gibbs?" she asked, hoping to get some more information from him about where they were.

"Twenty minutes until we land," he replied without any expression, knowing what she was asking before she asked it.

And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she wished it was a little longer. Because she knew the risks they were taking, spoken or not, and she had a bad feeling about leaving DC.

Tony was right. There was a slim chance of this ending well.

* * *

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had never been one to complain. Actually, scratch that. He did complain. A lot. But it _was_ true that most of the time he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

So when he found himself sitting alone in a sticking leather chair outside the Director of Mossad's office, he said nothing of the desert heat and stares of unfriendly-looking employees giving him a headache. There was no one to complain to anyways.

McGee was with Fornell and his people, who had already began collaborating with the Israeli analysts somewhere else in the building. He didn't really bother to ask any more about it.

He understood that since he was so clearly a newcomer in this place, it warranted a few curious glances, but the staring? Probably overkill. Yes, he was American, yes, he was Officer David's partner, and yes, he had business with the Director.

Well _he_ didn't, but Gibbs and Ziva did, so by extension, he did. And then he remembered, that this was Mossad, and the word 'overkill' was most likely not a part of their vocabulary.

He sighed lightly. Twenty-five minutes.

That's how long he'd been sitting there. And he was definitely getting edgy. Not only were the chair and the foreign onlookers making him uncomfortable, but he was also not happy about waiting outside while Ziva and Gibbs had their little chat with the Director.

This was the second time in less than a week that he had been excluded from an important conversation. He _hated_ sitting on the sidelines, especially when he was the only one to be doing so. Why couldn't he be in that office with them? He was certainly capable. He wanted to be in on it. _Needed_ to be in on it.

With nothing to concentrate on except his own frustration, Tony began tapping his hands and feet to prevent himself from doing anything rash.

He _did_ know how to make a beat.

But the more he thought about it, the more restless he became. Striding into the office while flashing his charming grin didn't seem like such a bad idea. He was Anthony DiNozzo - he could talk his way out of anything if it came down to it.

He was about to stand up when suddenly the office door slammed open, revealing an agitated and slightly flushed Ziva, who stalked past him without saying anything or even looking at him.

All the people that had been blatantly staring at him seconds earlier immediately busied themselves when she walked by. If it weren't for the fact that his partner had just marched by him in silent anger, he would've laughed at her apparent intimidation skills.

Gibbs emerged from the office a minute later, shutting the door behind him and smirking ever so slightly.

Hold up. Gibbs showing emotion was cause for concern. So now Tony was frustrated _and_ confused.

"Uh……Boss?" he asked, in reference to Ziva's irate departure. Gibbs sensed his question and answered him without looking at him.

"Her orders are to remain uninvolved and in a designated safe location until the threat has been neutralized."

So she had been ordered to sit on the sidelines. Well, that made two of them.

Wait a minute.

"Alone?" asked Tony, feeling incredibly disconcerted all the sudden.

"Nope. You're gonna be there with her."

The knot in his stomach loosened a little, but it was still there.

"Director's orders?"

"And mine," replied Gibbs, finally turning to face him.

"Well that's sweet of you, but I don't need protection," he added with a chuckle. His smile dropped when he saw the look Gibbs was giving him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and stood up a little straighter.

"Um, what I mean is, I've got her back, Boss."

Gibbs took a step closer so he was almost right in his face. But he wasn't visibly angry. Just stern, as usual.

"Yeah you better, DiNozzo. Because if you give them another chance, they _won't_ miss."

He turned on his heel and walked off, not waiting for his senior field agent to reply. Tony was left to try and quell the uneasiness in his gut, but he wasn't given very long.

"You coming?" came Gibbs's shout from hallway, who didn't bother to turn around as he called for the only member of his team left standing around.

"Where to, Boss?" replied Tony, who picked up his bag from under the chair and ran after Gibbs in a hurry.

"To your designated safe location," deadpanned Gibbs with sarcasm as they made their way out of Mossad headquarters and into the parking garage. Tony just nodded and picked up his pace a little bit.

Yeah, he was being forced to sit on the sidelines. But at least now he wasn't alone.

* * *

The heat was intoxicating. And not in a good way, since it did nothing to quell Ziva's frustration.

The stupid safehouse she was confined to did not have air conditioning, so the sticky heat only served to increase her agitation. Even with the windows open, she couldn't shake the oppressive feelings of being trapped in this space and unable to do anything.

She couldn't leave without an armed escort, and even then the only place she was allowed to go was the grocery store or something of that nature. She wasn't allowed to go to Mossad's headquarters or to where Gibbs and McGee were staying. No one was allowed inside the house, except for emergency extraction, which Ziva thought unlikely. So she wasn't involved in her own case in any way.

And to top it off, Gibbs went the extra mile and ordered DiNozzo there with her, as if she needed, or wanted, _extra_ protection.

"You're giving me a headache," came her partner's voice from behind the counter, where he was sitting on a stool trying to read some Israeli cookbook that had been lying around.

For the past ten minutes, he had been looking at the recipes and pictures while simultaneously trying to ignore Ziva pacing around the kitchen. He had finally gotten to something that looked miraculously delicious when he gave in and tried to get her to stop.

She ignored him and kept pacing, brow furrowed and arms crossed.

"He can be so _irritating_," she began, using Tony's breaking of the silence to release some of the thoughts pent up in her head.

Tony sighed and closed the book, silently hoping that if he listened to what she was saying he might be able to convince her to cook one of the recipes he was curious about. He wasn't sure if she noticed he was listening, but she continued anyways.

"He just orders me to this stupid safehouse and makes it impossible for me to accomplish anything. What is the point of locking me up here? I mean what does he expect me to do, sit back and do nothing?" she asked vehemently, turning to face Tony as she did so.

He was unsure of which _he_ she was talking about - Gibbs or her father. He decided just to go with it.

"Well yeah, I think that's exactly what he wants you to do."

She rolled her eyes and laughed bitterly as she continued taking out her frustration on the tile floor of the kitchen.

"Yes, count on Tony to agree with me. I thought you were here to assist me, or was it just to annoy?"

Now she was taking her anger out on him. Fantastic. He sighed again, not wanting any sort of confrontation or argument. He was definitely not in the mood.

"No Ziva, I was just being honest with you. And I'm here to provide back-up and protection."

"Great. Just what I need - _your_ protection."

Ouch.

He didn't see that one coming. And intentional or not, that still cut him deeper than her usual comebacks. He cocked his head slightly and was about to open his mouth to say something back, but she beat him to it.

"I'm sorry Tony, I did not mean that. It's just......it has been a long week."

And it was true.

Long, suspenseful, chaotic, unpredictable....call it what you want, but it was exhausting. For the both of them. And he understood that. Just as he understood how annoyed she was at being cooped up and completely uninvolved in pursuing her would-be assassin.

This sitting and waiting wasn't in either of their natures, and they were equally frustrated at the lack of knowledge or action. It was like doing deskwork as punishment. Only the upside here was, there was no paperwork, and they had each other for company.

He didn't say anything in response, he only smiled and signaled for her to come to the living room. She raised her eyebrows but followed him, unsure of what he was doing.

He grinned as he pulled out a movie he spotted earlier from the dusty shelf in the corner and put it in the DVD player. She only agreed to sit down and watch it with him when he came back from the kitchen with a bottle of wine in his hands.

"Is watching movies and drinking your solution to everything?" she asked playfully.

"Drinking? No. Watching movies? Yes."

She laughed a little bit and went to pour herself a generous glass of wine. It really had been a long week.

Did he really believe his makeshift cheer-up session would really change anything? No. But for now, they had nothing else to do, and it would work for him. Plus, he was looking forward to a few hours of relaxing. Because with the way Ziva was pouring, it seemed promising. At least they could distract themselves enough just to take some of the edge off.

But in the back of their minds, they knew it wouldn't. Not completely. With their jobs, you can never really forget.

And they had to be ready for anything.

* * *

_Pssssstt.....reviews?_


	8. Pray

**Disclaimer:** I would think it was obvious, but I don't own anything related to NCIS.

* * *

It had been far too long since Anthony DiNozzo had gotten any decent sleep.

He'd been in Israel four days, and he hadn't one session of peaceful sleep where he actually woke up feeling rested. Four days. But the nights never got any easier.

And before that, it was three nights in a safehouse in DC. He would toss and turn, never able to get comfortable. His mind would never settle down, and there was always something, some trigger, that kept him awake.

So there he lay in his bed, his legs tangled in the cotton sheets and sweat running down his back. He turned over onto his side, but he knew it would be of no use. It never worked.

Instead he took to observing the full moon spreading its light over the Tel Aviv skyline. The light filtered in through the window and illuminated the carpet in front of his bed like some sort of spotlight. If this weren't the third consecutive hour he'd been unable to sleep, he would've thought it was relaxing.

But now he resented it, as he felt as dead awake as the moon staring back at him.

With a frustrated sigh he untangled himself from the bed and stood up, hoping that if he got out of bed and tried later he might actually get some rest. He threw on a shirt over his slightly damp torso and quietly opened the door.

After grabbing a cool glass of water from the kitchen, he made his way back to his bedroom.

He was about to go back in when he suddenly changed his mind and continued down the hallway to Ziva's room. Call it curiosity, call it overprotectiveness, call it impulse. Call it anything, but he was going to check on her.

He didn't know what he was expecting to find, but he couldn't help it. He would just look in for a minute, and then be gone to try and get back to bed. He approached her door quietly, as he had no intention of waking her up.

He pushed it open without a sound and stepped inside, but was surprised to see that her bed was empty. And much like his bed, the sheets looked as if someone had been having a restless night.

He glanced in the bathroom, but the door was open and the lights were off.

And then his attention was turned to the balcony, where the sliding door was wide open and the beige curtain was swaying slightly with the gentle breeze. Tony froze for a second, his instincts telling him to reach for one of the weapons stashed in the room.

He took a cautious step forward, not wanting to be seen incase there was danger. But he stopped in his tracks when he finally caught sight of Ziva.

As far as he could tell, there was no threat. And if there was, she wouldn't be doing what she was.

She was standing with her back to Tony, her arms crossed over her chest. She was staring at the ground below her, but her gaze was unfocused. The wind blew her soft curls slightly, but she didn't seem to mind. She didn't take her eyes off the ground when Tony came to stand next to her.

The night was completely calm as he took his stance beside her, leaning on the wall. When she didn't acknowledge his presence, he took a good look at her face. Immediately he felt a stab of idiocy as he realized that he wasn't the only one who fought with the night.

The longer he observed her, the more it made sense to him.

None of this had been easy on her, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She had been forced to return here, to Israel. She didn't protest, but it was against her will nonetheless. He could see it in her features and the way she carried herself.

The early rising. The silent breakfasts. The half-hearted smiles in response to his jokes. The way she had preferred to be alone in her bedroom, where there were actually two beds. She was not comfortable here. And he saw now that it really had nothing to do with his presence. After all, he saw the way she jerked awake on the plane. He leaned forward a little on the wall of the balcony.

"The dream again?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle her with his sudden breaking of the pensive silence.

She didn't ask how he knew. At this point she did not care. Not really. She just nodded.

"It is always the same. It was one of my first assignments."

"And?" he pressed on, his voice quiet but encouraging. His green eyes focused solely on her.

"Only in the dream the target turns into my brother. And my sister is there. She does not understand."

Tony had the feeling that neither did she, but he didn't say anything. He didn't really know what to say.

And Ziva knew that she could've told him right then and there. She could've told him the truth about Ari, but she held back. It wasn't the right time. Never the right time. One way or another, there was always something holding her back.

"Have you slept at all?" he asked after a few seconds of silence where she said nothing. She ignored his question (that he already knew the answer to) and turned to face him.

"I have to see her."

He just stared intensely at her, as if trying to figure her out. But he knew what she meant. She was talking about Tali. Her eyes were soft, yet determined. Serene, yet masking the ache. Almost pleading.

"I may not get another chance."

And he knew all too well what she meant. Second chances were a thing of luxury, especially in their line of work. A heartbroken ex-lover and a dead director, both on his watch, had taught him that. And he could hear the hidden message in Ziva's words. She was going to see her sister, regardless of her situation. Her mind was already made up.

He knew he should protest, stop her from going, make her see that she didn't haveto go. Once, he had been told that you_ always_ have a choice, but he was starting to believe that wasn't really true.

It was not in Ziva's nature to sit here like this, stuck in a situation she did not want to be in. It was _natural_ for her to be unable to rest until she had tried to see her sister. So, really, deep down, she didn't have a choice.

Frustrated at his apparent lack of response, she continued to speak in a flurry of determination.

"I know that if anyone finds out I have gone, we will both be in trouble. And I know you are going to say that it's dangerous, and that this is a terrible idea, and then you will reference some movie and tell me how this will not end well and that I should go back to sleep because I am going crazy, yes?" she asked hurriedly, trying to gauge his response and defend herself.

He continued to stare thoughtfully at her. Despite the purplish-blue bruise on her forehead from previous days' events, she still looked determined as ever. The bright moon in the background seemed to set her eyes on fire even more. She waited.

"No. Actually I was going to say I'd go with you."

"What?" she asked, thrown off-guard by his simple acceptance. He didn't back down.

"I'll go with you, Ziva. It's my job."

Even if it wasn't his official assignment to protect her, he still would've gone with her. And if someone had asked him why, he would've told them it was his job. Because it was, regardless of official orders.

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, unsure if he was going to throw in some catch or take it back. But he held her gaze with a look that expressed his sincerity, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with relief and traces of hope.

She broke the stare and headed back towards her bedroom.

"We should leave now. Our detail will not be expecting it."

Quickly, she threw some things on the bed and began packing them into her backpack, making sure she didn't forget any of the weapons she had stashed in the closet. Then she tossed him an extra combat knife she had placed under the bath mat in the bathroom, just incase. Luckily it was folded, because unlike her, he wasn't comfortable tossing around knives like they were toys. He caught it from where he was standing in the doorway, just watching her.

He had everything he needed ready to go anyways.

"What about Gibbs?" Tony asked her as she finished putting some extra clothes into her bag. She paused and let her shoulders fall slightly. She was hoping they could avoid mentioning that, at least until they were already gone and it was too late to turn back. And she didn't want to think about how she was deliberately disobeying him. Or her father.

"He would not be happy about this, Tony."

Well yeah, he figured that.

"So what do I tell him?" he asked.

"That everything is fine. Make up something, I don't know."

"And when he finds out?"

She turned around from what she was doing and met his gaze. He was still in complete seriousness, but his expression told her that he didn't really anticipate his boss finding out. Not if they were careful.

He waited, her piercing eyes impressing the weight of what she was saying.

"Tell him you were doing your job."

It was ironic, really. In doing what he needed to do, he was disobeying orders. It was not something he could avoid. Staying behind and leaving her to go alone was not an option. If it were, he wouldn't be Tony and she wouldn't be Ziva.

And while the thought of how they shouldn't go certainly did cross his mind, it was outweighed by sheer necessity. She _had_ to go. And he _had_ to go with her. The same way she _had_ to get out of the car that night, and they way he _had_ to follow her. There was no other way. Some things you just can't change.

They did not have a choice.

* * *

To put it simply, the trip was long. Long, hot, and unproductive.

Now, looking out onto the dry expanse of sandy plains all around him, the dust trailing up behind their stolen Jeep (Ziva's idea), Tony was beginning to think that maybe it would've been easier to fly.

But, showing their faces and using their passports at an airport would not be beneficial to them, so they decided on making the trip via car. So here they were, dust and the heat clouding around his shaded eyes as he glanced over at his partner behind the wheel.

She still looked as focused as ever and had barely spoken since they'd snuck out of their safehouse back in Israel. He turned and looked out the open door/ window area (it _was_ a Jeep), taking in the suburban infrastructure beginning to appear on the sides of the road as he thought.

The whole thing had actually been easier than Tony had thought it would be.

They had gone out the back door and strategically snuck around the side of the house, so that the Mossad officer on surveillance detail would only see them if he suddenly checked his rearview window and looked directly at their shadowy corner next to some bushes. Luckily he didn't, and they were able to successfully steal an inconspicuous-looking car from a few houses down.

From there they had begun the approximately 250-mile trip from the outskirts of Tel Aviv to a suburban area just outside Cairo. They had ridden the coast the entire night, and by early morning they made a quick stop in Port Said for breakfast, all without any trouble.

And for the past two hours they had been driving from Port Said to their destination, which according to Ziva, they were fast approaching.

"Where exactly are we going?" asked Tony as he fanned his shirt to get some air, despite the lightness of the material.

They had both changed their looks somewhat to fit in to the Arab culture more easily, since it was key that they wouldn't stand out or be recognized. He had switched his jeans and T-shirt for some darker pants and a loose beige "tunic-thing", and Ziva had removed her blatantly Jewish necklace and switched to her preferred cargo pants.

At least the change in attire had still allowed them to carry concealed weapons. His Sig was tucked in the small of his back, and a knife was holstered to his leg. He didn't know exactly what she brought, to which he was secretly thankful. She kept her eyes on the road as she answered him.

"Tali's handler has a house outside the city limit. He will know where she is," she replied, taking a sharp left without stopping at the intersection. Tony had learned to deal with her erratic driving a long time ago. But he still gripped the door a little tighter.

"Do you trust him?"

"He works for the CIA," she deadpanned, as if that settled the matter. Not good enough for Tony, who had a particular dislike for certain members of that organization.

"Well yeah, professionally he is reliable. But do you actually trust him?"

Her thoughts were impossible to read, especially with the sunglasses blocking her eyes. For a second he thought she wouldn't answer. But she did, softening her voice just a fraction.

"Yes. He is an old friend of my family."

He thought maybe she would elaborate, but she remained silent. He didn't question.

Not a minute later they had pulled in to a short gravel driveway, turning off the engine almost immediately. The dust kicked up from the tires still hung in the air when they approached the front door of the small house.

Ziva knocked a couple times, but no one came to the door. She didn't wait for Tony to make some comment before she tried again.

Still nothing.

She raised her hand to knock again when the door opened, revealing a man with dark skin and even darker hair, eyeing them uncertainly through the opening in the door. Upon seeing who was standing on his porch, his face immediately lit up with recognition and confusion and Tony noticed that the hand that had been tensely held behind his back had dropped to his side.

"Ziva? I was not expecting you. The last time I heard from you, you were on your way back to Washington. What are you doing here?" the man asked, his eyes flickering to Tony, who made no friendly gesture. He didn't know this man.

"I did not mean to show up like this, Kadin, but I need to see my sister. Do you know where I can find her?" she asked, neglecting to introduce Tony or start any small talk. But he knew her too well to truly expect that.

The man named Kadin muttered a few unhappy-sounding Arabic words under his breath and opened the door wider for his two guests.

Tony was momentarily distracted by the sight of a young girl, no older than four or five, peeking around the corner of the next room. He looked at her for a few seconds, but was brought out of his trance by the sound of Kadin's voice.

"I think it is best if you come inside," he replied, motioning for Tony to come as well, as his demeanor was rather intimidating. The girl that was presumably Kadin's daughter scurried up the stairs when the two strangers walked inside.

Tony took off his sunglasses as Ziva began to speak, her voice not betraying her tension at all.

"Kadin, this is Special Agent DiNozzo. He is my partner at NCIS."

Tony smiled lightly and shook the man's hand. It was firm and welcoming.

"It is nice to finally meet you, Agent DiNozzo. Ziva speaks very highly of you."

Although surprised to learn that she had talked about him with Kadin, he let it slide. The CIA probably knew all about him anyways.

"Please, just call me Tony."

Kadin returned the light smile and led them to the kitchen area. By the time he turned around and motioned towards the table, his smile was gone.

"You should sit down. We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

Tony took a sip of what he thought tasted like guava juice, licking his lips slightly. He glanced over at the person sitting next to him. She left her glass untouched, waiting anxiously but stiffly for Kadin to begin whatever it was he was going to say.

It hadn't been long since they'd arrived at this man's house, but Tony was expecting at least a _little_ show that these two had been friends as she had mentioned before. Instead, Ziva had been unusually quiet, even by her standards.

Tony couldn't tell if she was nervous or angry. Kadin cleared his throat, placing his own glass down on the table and gazing at the two of them seriously.

"As you know, earlier this year your sister was on a highly important mission regarding illegal arms trading between terrorist groups in Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and Jordan. If our operation succeeded, a major part of the trade ring would be reduced if not eliminated," began Kadin, who poured more liquid into Tony's glass as he spoke.

Ziva nodded simply. Tony just listened intently, feeling that it would be inappropriate to interrupt such an important discussion. Kadin continued explaining.

"Her role was to infiltrate a small group of radical militants here in Cairo and work her way into the circles of larger, more high-profile targets. Her cover was a low-level Jordanian dealer whose parents were killed by the government in the fighting against the _fedayeen_, looking to expand her business."

Tony could have laughed. This kind of thing really did run in the family, didn't it?

"Every other night she would find a different place to contact me from, using payphones and stolen cell phones. On one of the scheduled nights, I did not hear from her. That was three weeks ago."

Ziva tensed up in her seat, her shoulders and arms stiffening her posture, unease growing at the pit of her stomach. Kadin glanced at her, but said nothing of her reaction. She kept her head down as he continued to speak.

"We waited three days, but she never made contact. We arranged for an emergency extraction, but our resources here in Cairo are limited."

Tony certainly did not like where this was going. _He __was having trouble digesting this_, so he couldn't imagine what his partner must be thinking. But of course, she displayed very little in her features.

Kadin reluctantly continued.

"We were ambushed before we could even leave the country. Eight of my men were killed, and three were injured. We could find no trace of Tali."

Ziva kept her head down and closed her eyes briefly. When she declined to speak, Tony stepped up for her.

"Aren't you still looking for her? Come on they way you talk about her, she's gotta be one of your best operatives!"

"It was not my choice to give up, Agent DiNozzo, but I was given an order. She has been gone too long."

Tony knew better than anyone that following orders could get people killed. And he hated it. He hated it then, and he hated it now.

He narrowed his eyes at Kadin and looked at his partner for support. Her head was still bent, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath and clenched her jaw, trying to keep everything in check.

"Excuse me," she said softly while rising from her seat, ignoring Tony as he stared after her when she walked down the hallway.

She quietly closed the door of the guest bedroom they had been offered and left the two men sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table. Tony had half a mind to follow her in there, but after realizing that he didn't know what to say and it was clearly a painful topic, he decided he could talk to her later.

For now he just rose from his own seat and silently offered to help Kadin with the dishes. He felt a little ashamed at the feeling like he was intruding on something, and he meant something to Ziva, so he figured he might as well do something while he was here.

But he couldn't shake the uneasiness. Something, he felt, was still out of place.

* * *

_Please review? It makes my week that much better. Not just my day, my entire week. Thanks!_


	9. Bullet

**Disclaimer:** NCIS is not mine. Or anything related to it. Okay. Enjoy!

* * *

It was hot. It sounded stupid and ridiculously simple. It was hot. Like a fourth grader returning to school and recalling their summer vacation. Nothing better to say than 'it was hot'.

Sure, you could go into detail about the blazing sun, the stagnant haze, or the sticking humidity. You could dance around it with fancy language or far-fetched metaphors. You could make it complicated. Make it sound better. More appealing. But eventually, after all that playful grammar and intricate irony, you just wish people would say what the hell they mean. And just keep it simple.

It was hot. And that sounded perfectly fine to Ziva. Trying to make sense of the mess in her head was complicated enough.

She had tried sleeping. Had tried resting off-and-on for three hours, before she would half-startle awake again, mind racing about her family, recurring dreams, and Kadin.

Kadin, who had allowed her and Tony to stay indefinitely. Staying indefinitely would imply weeks or months, but Ziva wouldn't even consider that. She was here for a reason.

It was impossible _not_ to think about it. And for someone who blocked out fear and covered up emotions her entire life, that fact was seriously irritating her. She wished she could just stop, put it away, keep it in check. Hide it. Hit it. Freaking kill it. But it would be futile, and it was infuriating. Maybe it would've been better if her father never told her the truth.

They say ignorance is bliss.

No.

Ignorance is for fools and innocent people. People that suddenly find themselves ignorant and dead.

Her sister had disappeared. She hadn't made contact as scheduled. And everything pointed to foul play.

She had been undercover, which is dangerous enough. Kadin explained later that she feared they were suspicious of her. Then she skipped check-in, and when the CIA attempted to extract her, they were ambushed. And still, no word from her.

How could she possibly consider leaving it alone?

So now, Ziva was sitting in an armchair, her senses somewhat dulled from heavy thoughts and lack of sleep. She looked as if she was just cooling off or taking a break from something, but in truth she was searching. Searching for a reason to stay. Here, in this place, where she could find no rest. The place that had her so close to seeing Tali, so close to finding the unexpressable joy of an overdue reunion.

But she had not found what she was looking for.

Ziva was a person of action. Anyone could tell you her impressive track record in Mossad and NCIS supports that statement. Everything about her supported that statement. She hated waiting for things to happen. She would not sit here and let her sister die. She couldn't.

What difference would it make if she left now or in a few hours when it was light out? Regardless of old wisdom, 'sleeping on it' would do nothing. It wasn't going to change. It wasn't going to go away. There would be no new perspective. She had to go. She could not stay. Not now.

_I may not get another chance.__  
_  
Perhaps it was truer now than it was when she said it the previous night.

It was hot, ignorance is not bliss, and she may not get another chance. She would not give up on Tali.

* * *

Ziva rechecked her things twice. 'Her things' meaning her weapons. She had nothing to check in her regular bag, as she hadn't touched it since she'd arrived. She hadn't really expected anything to be out of order, but it was a habit.

And this was important.

One look at the crumpled sheets and she decided it would be polite to make the bed. It seemed fair enough, since she was sneaking off very early without telling Tony or Kadin, who had kindly offered his hospitality. She would answer their calls later in the day, maybe, but she would not disturb either of them right now. It would only waste time.

The first signs of morning light were peeking through the window when she picked up her bag and headed out of the guestroom without making much noise. She closed the door in the same quiet manner and silently headed down the hallway towards the back door. It may have been easier to go out the front door, but Tony was sleeping on the couch, and she was counting on not waking him.

She turned right at the end of the hallway and almost jumped when she heard someone furiously whisper her name from behind her. _Almost_. Instead her muscles immediately tensed up and her right hand flew to her hip where she immediately drew her weapon at the person that had startled her.

Tony.

So much for not waking him.

He was leaning against the wall across from where she was standing. If she had turned left intsead of right at the end of the hallway, she would've run right into him. He instinctively put his hands up to calm her down.

"It's just me" he said, nodding at her slightly.

"What are you doing?" she asked in annoyance, re-holstering her gun as she did so. He glanced at her bag.

"Trying to figure out where you're going."

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Actually I didn't. Technically it wasn't a question."

Ziva sighed. She definitely did not need this from him right now.

"How long have you been there?"

"Well, I've been standing in this spot for about seven minutes, give or take. But if you mean how long have I been waiting for you to do something like this? All night."

"And you decided to waste your night waiting for me because..." she led, wishing they weren't having this conversation.

"Because I knew you would try to go alone."

"I'm not _trying_, Tony. I _am_ going alone."

"Why?" he asked, defiant and confused at the same time. Did he not tell her less than 24 hours ago that he would go with her? Was he not supposed to watch her six? He could help her. He _should_ help her. There was nothing for him here.

"I have to," she replied, her eyes burning. But he could see, this time her assurances did not come from some deep-seated anger or prideful defiance. More like loyalty. Or ache.

"Ziva..." he started, hoping that by just saying those two syllables he could express everything he needed to say. Her expression softened upon hearing her name spoken like that, but she did not show any indication of backing down.

"You don't have to do everything by yourself," he said calmly, hoping that she would get it.

It wasn't just about sneaking off alone to find her sister. While he certainly respected her independent spirit, sometimes he couldn't figure out what she was still hiding from. He did not want her to end up alone. Alone and in a body bag.

She took another deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, willing him to understand.

"No, I do not. But this is personal."

It's not that she didn't trust him. Despite the charming immaturity and faked incompetence, she did trust him. But this started, and would end, with her own family. Her own past. Aside from that, she knew she could deal most efficiently with this if she were alone. She had more training and far more experience with what she was trying to do.

Not to mention she did not want to jeopardize his safety, as this was sure to be far from risk-free.

He didn't say anything. She wasn't sure if that was because he realized where she was coming from or because he was hurt that she would've left without a word to him.

"I could help you."

"Please, Tony," she replied, resisting the urge to take his hands and _make_ him see that this was something she must do by herself.

It wasn't easy. And it made him uncomfortable. How was he supposed to let her go like that? One part of his mind was telling him that Gibbs would be disappointed in him. That he should never have agreed to leave Israel. But the other part was telling him that he should stop thinking about what Gibbs would do, because this is Ziva. And if he had to let her go alone, he knew he would.

He hoped she knew what she was doing.

"Alright. I'll stay."

He expected her to look relieved that he had agreed to let her go, but her features never gave it away.

"It may have been dangerous to come here. If anything happens, Kadin will need your help. He is a good man."

She could not bring herself to say that she was more worried about the safety of his daughter than Kadin himself. And while the back of his mind was itching to know just how Ziva knew Kadin, he let it slide.

He nodded and gazed fiercely at her, his green eyes telling her he would do what he could.

"You can use these," he said quietly, pulling out a small set of keys from the back pocket of his jeans. She looked at him questioningly.

"For the motorcylce in the garage. Kadin said that he never uses it anyway. Might be better than the Jeep out there."

She took the keys from his outstretched hands, not really sure what to say. This small gesture told her that Tony understood, better than his real words actually could. She smiled softly and began heading towards the door, taking a look back at her partner.

"I will not be long."

He nodded back, ignoring the slight knot in his stomach. Ziva walked out the door without looking back at him again.

The thought that she was seriously putting herself at risk did not cross her mind.

And as he heard the rumble of the motorcylce's engine tearing away from the small house, he never considered it either.

* * *

Aggression. And instinct.

It was fuel for the fire that had her ripping past the desert landscape at dangerous speeds. Dangerous. _Dangerous? _

It was almost laughable.

No. She was on fire. Burning with primal energy and the basic need to _do._ Burning with fervor, warmth, and impulse. Burning with power, perception, and loyalty.

Curious how she never thought of love.

But even still, it was a fire that had been burning her entire life.

So here she was, hours and hours after leaving Kadin's house earlier that morning, abruptly killing the engine of her recently-acquired motorcycle. She rolled it to a stop against a wall in the deserted alley right next to the place she had spent all day trying to find.

It was an old run-down building made from sand-weathered stone and an unstable-looking roof. It contrasted greatly with the red and orange blurriness of the setting sun. The dusty glass windows and the paint-chipped door gave the impression that the building was vacant, and had been for some time.

But Ziva knew it wasn't. The place reeked of terrorist hideout. And it was exactly the place she was looking for, despite the fact that she wasn't entirely certain where the information had come from.

She had been an active member of the intelligence-gathering community for many years, so she knew better than anyone that not every contact was reliable, and that the source of the flow of information was not always something to be proud of. But _her_ contact had assured her of the information's accuracy, and that particular man knew that there would be very little to gain by screwing around with Mossad.

However her contact had retrieved the information, it didn't matter. Because there was no room for idealism in this line of work.

And this was for Tali. The thought simultaneously lifted her spirits and dropped her stomach.

Ziva approached the front door cautiously, her heart beat quickening and senses alerted to any noise coming from the inside. She pressed her ear against the wooden frame, her gun held tightly in her hands, ready to be raised and fired the second she needed it.

Several stretching seconds of silence passed, and when it was clear that there was no one immediately inside the door, she turned the handle slowly, surprised that it was unlocked. She pushed the heavy door open with as much quietness as she could. It creaked slightly, and she raised her gun, but still there was no one there to challenge her.

She cleared the few dingy rooms close to the door, taking note of the carelessness of whoever occupied the building. Harsh notes and scrawled-on sheets of paper were strewn about the floor, along with loose tools, semi-automatic weapons, and food wrappers.

If this was an official operation, it would've been too easy.

But it wasn't, so she bypassed the collection of incriminating evidence and crept around the corner. She quickly stole a glance down the stairs, checking to make sure the men weren't returning. The staircase was empty, however, so she swiftly made her way down to the landing and peeked around the corner before stepping into the hallway.

Still there was no one.

She stuck close to the wall as she stealthily made her way toward the end of the hallway, her grip tightening around her gun and her pulse getting heavier as she approached an open doorframe to her left. She stopped for a moment, listening for voices or sounds of motion.

Nothing.

The angle she was at made it impossible to see what was inside the room until she was standing right in front of it, gun raised in anticipation. Her hand faltered and she suddenly felt exhausted and disgusted when she realized what she was looking at.

_Tali_.

Her head was bowed over her chest and she had grown older since the last time Ziva had seen her, but there was no mistaking the soft black curls, tangled as they were, or the tanned olive skin they shared.

She was leaning forward in a rickety wooden chair, her hands bound crudely with thick rope that tied her to the structural beam directly behind the chair. Her arms were lined with raised red slash marks, similar to the unflinchingly visible cuts on her thighs showing through her tattered and bloody pants.

Ziva threw her gun aside and rushed forward, forgetting about silence and stealth.

She immediately drew out the knife strapped to her leg and wasted no time in cutting through the braided bonds holding Tali's arms above her head. As soon as the younger woman's arms were released she fell forward with an unwary groan, her dead weight pushing her forward out of the chair.

Ziva dropped the knife and caught hold of her fatigued body before she could slam into the concrete below her. Tali made a few involuntary pained noises as Ziva sat down on the dusty floor and positioned her sister so that her legs were lying on the floor with her upper torso in Ziva's lap.

Her eyes were wide as she brushed the knotted hair out of Tali's face and noticed the murky blue-black around her swollen eye, the cracked dry lips, and the wheezy rattling of her breath.

"Tali," she whispered fervently, cupping one hand around Tali's cheek as she did so. She shook her lightly and whispered it a little louder when she got no response from the vacant and tired eyes.

Tali turned her head a little at the urgency of the voice.

"Ziva?" she asked softly, uncertainty etched into her voice and unseeing eyes.

Ziva nodded lightly and swallowed back the lump constricted in her throat.

"Ziva?" Tali asked again in the same quiet, desperate tone. She looked up into Ziva's face with disbelief and wonder that so reminded her of a child.

"Yes," she choked out, unable to say anything more to her disbelieving and fragile sister. She lightly stroked the side of Tali's face and shifted a little.

"Is that you?" she asked again, raising her right arm and groping in the air until her raw and chafed hand made contact with Ziva's. Ziva brought the two loosely intertwined hands down to Tali's stomach so she could better speak to her sister.

"I'm here Tali. Stay with me, _achoti_, I will help you," she replied clearly with compassion on her lips. Tali did not seem to comprehend what her sister was saying.

"You look so much older now."

Ziva squeezed her sister's hand, unable to reply. Her throat threatened to constrict but once again she swallowed it down.

"I will help you. Please. Just come with me," she spoke strongly for the sake of her sister, hoping that she would get through to her this time.

"Ziva," she whispered harshly when her sister tried to move her. Ziva immediately stopped and looked back down into Tali's face.

"Tell Ari," Tali croaked out, her face scrunched up in pain from the effort. "Tell him about me, okay?"

Her words were interrupted by a hacking cough emanating from dried lips and starving lungs. Fresh blood pooled over her teeth and ran down her mouth, leaving angry crimson streaks as it went.

Tears threatened to spill over from Ziva's eyes as she watched her beloved sister struggle to speak. Tali's breaths were deep and failing, and she didn't even have the strength to wipe the blood from her mouth.

"Just tell him..." she whispered throatily, unable to find the strength to finish the thought. Her eyelids drooped slightly and she lost eye contact with Ziva, who did not have the heart to tell Tali about Ari's death.

"I....." began Tali breathily, before she was stopped by another exploding and ragged cough. More blood spilled over from her lips and onto her chin.

"Ziva....." she whispered sadly, her head leaning to the side and her eyes closing as she so softly spoke her sister's name. Her hand fell limp in Ziva's grip and her chest ceased to rise.

Silent tears began falling from Ziva's dark eyes as she moved her hand over Tali's neck. Her hand shook as she took it away.

Not unconscious.

Dead.

The fresh and relentless tears stung her eyes as she brought the lifeless body closer to hers. She pressed her forehead to hers and openly sobbed into the pale warmth of Tali's skin. The pain escaped her wild and sorrowed cries. She squeezed her sweet Tali's soft hand and continued to sob.

She did not know how long she stayed there, clutching the body of her dead sister and crying into the empty air. Maybe minutes, maybe an hour.

She did not care.

But when no more tears would come, she released her hold and on Tali and let her body rest so coldly on the floor. She stroked her hair one last time before something on the floor caught her eye. She reached for the object, picking up a thin black booklet laying half-beneath Tali's back.

Curiously, with a stabilizing sniff, she opened the wallet and immediately something fell out. A silver Star of David necklace - the complement to the one Ziva wore every day. She fingered the necklace for a moment before scooping it up and putting it safely in her own pocket.

Her attention turned back to the black booklet lying open on the floor. She picked it back up to look at it.

It was Tali's shield and ID. Ziva was drawn to the small cropped picture of twenty-four year-old Tali. Her dark shining hair was straightened, and her dark blue eyes seemed to be sparkling with pride and competence. Her bright smile was one of compassion and confidence. She looked so young, and yet so full of life.

And now she was lying dead on the cold concrete floor.

And suddenly Ziva was hit with an overwhelming wave of burning rage for the people responsible. A surge of hatred consumed her veins and her features hardened with the screaming anger taking over her mind. Any traces of compassion or sadness were gone as the new feeling of dark intensity forced her to feel only loathing and exploding power.

She fought to control her quivering lip as she picked up her discarded gun and clenched her jaw in steely preparation. Its sharp precision had never felt more right in her hands.

She turned right out of the open doorway and quickly yet silently approached the other end of the hallway that she hadn't checked yet. It was in another dimly lit room that she found them, hunched over on makeshift mats and reciting low words in harsh-sounding Arabic.

Now she knew why no one had noticed her arrive or confronted her when she imposed on their secrecy. They were _praying_.

She was disgusted at the sight of them. Her eyes narrowed as she pushed open the door in an irrational fury.

The first man was dead before he could even lift his head from his kneeling position. His blood spattered onto the second man, who shouted loudly in Arabic before he too was silenced with an unforgiving gunshot.

The third man stared in horrified silence at his two dead comrades. His eyes closed permanently as a bullet pierced through his chest. The fourth man tried to move away in a flurry of fear but he was thrown down in a pool of his own blood before he could even stand.

The air reeked of gunpowder and the filthy dead.

The fifth and last man had managed to stand and had backed himself into the wall, his eyes fearful and wide. His hands were still in a praying position and he was muttering under his breath as Ziva approached him.

He looked desperately at his men lying dead on the floor with open and fearful eyes, sweat pouring down his forehead. He sucked in a breath and looked at Ziva pleadingly. Begging.

She glared back and raised her gun.

He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, his empty eyes still open. Blood leaked from the single bullet-hole in his head. She re-holstered her gun and felt only nothingness as she walked out the door.

And as she sped away from the repulsive and burning building, taking one last glance at the engulfing flames, she swore she heard a child crying somewhere in the night.

She never realized the sounds were coming from her own lips.

* * *

_Please review! I'll love you :)_


	10. Gone

**Disclaimer:** NCIS is not mine, nor is anything related to it. I think we're clear on that.

* * *

Tony was hovering. He had been standing in the hallway outside his partner's bedroom for the better half of ten minutes, just sort of awkwardly waiting there and deciding if he should go in.

And it bothered him greatly.

Sure, he knew what he was hovering between. On the other side of the door was Ziva, locked in solitude. Tony hadn't seen her since she'd arrived around daybreak, eyes shrouded and her face contorted in suppressed pain.

He knew then that she had been tainted with more than just the blood covering her shirt and arms. And when she had handed him Tali's shield and ID without making eye contact, he had let her retreat to her room in silence.

No, he understood _what_ he was hovering between – going inside to try and talk to her or leave her in her preferred isolation. He just didn't know _why_ he was so hesitant. He had never been one to offer comfort in the traditional sense, and Ziva had never been one to accept comfort of any kind, or even need it. It just wouldn't feel right invading on either of their practiced self-reliance.

But it didn't feel right sitting around and leaving her alone, either.

He shifted his weight slightly, trying to readjust the plate of eggs and toast he had made, as it was getting a little annoying to hold. He looked around half-heartedly for nothing in particular, mostly out of habit.

He almost dropped the glass of orange juice he was holding when his eyes fell on Kadin, who was leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway. Apparently, he had been watching Tony the entire time.

He didn't move when Tony finally noticed him.

"You should go in. She would want to see you."

Tony glanced at the door again, as if he had to confirm what Kadin had been talking about. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. But he _had_ made her this breakfast, and he wasn't going to eat it himself. And something about the way Kadin had been creepily watching him had sealed the deal.

He gently turned the knob and lightly pushed open the door.

He found her sitting at the small card table near the window, meticulously cleaning her knife. The glint of the blade sparkled slightly as she turned it around in her hands. She didn't acknowledge him as he approached and took a seat across from her.

Honestly, he didn't know why he had expected anything different. Maybe it would've been easier for him if he had found her crying her eyes out and seeking consolation. Maybe it would've been easier for her, too.

He observed her silently, trying to gauge if she was going to say something or not. It was then that he noticed that there were no stains on the cloth she was using to clean the knife. He cleared his throat a little and raised his eyebrows.

"I brought you some breakfast," he said quietly, gently pushing forward the plate of food and the glass of juice. Ziva didn't take her eyes off the knife. It didn't even seem like she heard him. She just continued working at it.

Tony was caught off guard when she actually spoke a second later.

"The first time I killed someone, my father was proud. He told me it proved that I was Israeli – that I had strong blood. And he promised that soon I could join Ari at Mossad."

Tony tilted his head a little, curious. He had never heard her speak of anything like this, especially not when it involved her family. And he prayed that Ziva would never be like her misguided and twisted brother.

_I'd wish you luck, but I want the bastard dead too._

Apparently Ziva didn't notice the frown on Tony's face, because she kept talking.

"The man had tried to shoot me, but his gun jammed. I stabbed him until he stopped moving."

He wondered if this story had anything to do with the already-clean knife that she was so intensely scrubbing, or if that was just her way of coping. Still, he let her continue.

"I stayed up all night vomiting. Tali just watched me, crying. She could not believe what I was becoming - she was only sixteen then. I had just turned twenty-one."

Tony felt something pull at his chest and twist up inside him when he heard this. With an ache and a look of solemnity, he realized just how different their worlds had been.

He had spent his teenage years flirting, playing competitive sports, hating his father, and forcing himself through school. When he turned twenty-one, he was a junior at Ohio State, flipping burgers at a café by day and living the high life by night.

She had spent her teenage years avoiding suicide bombers, training to fight and deal in deception, and growing to hate Israel's enemies. When she turned twenty-one, she had finished her service with the IDF, and had killed someone.

Briefly he thinks about all the times he has teased her for being an emotionless assassin, and how he was an idiot to believe that she had somehow always been that way.

His thoughts were interrupted by Ziva's voice.

"I do not believe she ever understood."

Ziva knew she could not have been more truthful. Tali had been torn from one life and forced to live a type of life she chose to lead, but never really wanted. And even as she was dying, even as she felt her sister's tears on her marred skin, Tali never understood.

Tony studied her for a moment, hoping to get some sort of reaction that would indicate what she was thinking. Her jaw was clenched, her brow furrowed, and her eyes focused on her knife with a dark passion.

It was then that he realized that this was the only reaction he would ever be allowed to see. And now he was beginning to understand _why_. This mask, this hidden pain – it was everything that Ziva David was. There were no tears, no weakness. Because she wouldn't. She _couldn't_.

One would never know that she was dealing with something traumatic. She was trained – her features seemed practiced and schooled. And that was the ironic part really - because Tony knew her, and he _did_ understand. She hid her emotional pain well.

But he had never seen her more upset in her life.

Tony was saved the trouble of figuring out what to say by the door to the bedroom bursting open, revealing a panting and frenzied-looking Kadin.

"Ziva, Agent DiNozzo, come quickly. Please, you must leave now."

Any thoughts about Ziva or Tali were forgotten as Tony rose from his seat, looking from Ziva to Kadin. His look of confusion matched his partner's.

"What?" asked Tony, leaving the untouched plate of food behind as he made his way to the door, Ziva right behind him.

"The CIA has received reliable intelligence that a party of terrorists in the area are hunting two American agents. Every one of our operatives in the area has been given a warning to keep their eyes open. Please, you must move quickly."

Tony rushed into the room he had been using and quickly gathered his things, which were scattered mostly on the floor. His bag lay open on the bed and he haphazardly threw in anything that was his, not caring about neatness. He could hear Ziva doing the same thing across the hall.

"Where are we going?" asked Tony, running into the bathroom to grab his razor and shampoo. Kadin answered as Tony headed back to the bedroom.

"An armed escort will be here in five minutes to bring you and Ziva to our headquarters on the other side of the city. They will tell you what to do from there."

"What about you? There's a good chance those guys will come here," asked Tony, thinking of Kadin's young daughter and suddenly seeing images of a child's cries and a burning home.

Kadin shook his head hurriedly as if to say that it was irrelevant right now.

"I have a summer home in Alexandria. I will leave with my daughter as soon as you go."

At this point, Tony had finished packing whatever he brought and only had to re-check his Sig before he was ready to go. Satisfied that it was ready to use, he tucked it behind his back.

Ziva was already out there waiting when he stepped into the hallway with his bag slung over his shoulder. Kadin ushered them towards the front door and Tony had his hand on the doorknob when he felt Ziva turn around abruptly.

"Your keys," she said to Kadin, who was right behind them making sure they left the house safely. She took them out of her pocket and handed them to Kadin, who looked like he had forgotten she had them.

"Yes, yes, thank you. Now go, quickly."

He pushed them closer to the door.

"Kadin…" began Ziva, refusing to leave just yet. She ignored Tony's sigh of impatience. "Thank you for letting us stay here. I did not mean to put you in danger."

"No no, you did not know. Do not worry."

It was then that two armored vehicles pulled up, dull engines humming as several burly men jumped down from the open bed of the second vehicle, all wearing CIA-labeled flak vests, helmets, and carrying M16s.

Armed escort indeed.

"Ziva we have to go," stated Tony calmly, opening the front door and looking back at his partner, who was still facing Kadin. Her hand was grasping his as she spoke.

"I cannot thank you enough. Please, take care of yourself for me."

The man nodded seriously, then motioned towards the front steps, where Tony was waiting. Ziva glanced at him for a second before quickly turning back to Kadin.

"_Shalom,_ Kadin," she whispered, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning and taking her place next to Tony as they made their way to the one vehicle. She heard the door close behind her and her focus switched solely to getting to the CIA headquarters.

Tony exchanged a few words with their escorts before jumping up onto the bed of the vehicle. The car in front of them began pulling away slowly as Tony turned around and held out his hand to help Ziva, who quickly grabbed it and hopped up next to him. The second the other escorts were back in the vehicle, the two vehicles sped away towards the city.

After several minutes of observing the streets around him, plus the realization that that they were surrounded by guards toting assault rifles, Tony relaxed a little. He exchanged a quick apprehensive glance with his partner.

He didn't have time to think before the car ahead of them exploded and they were thrown backwards.

* * *

Two hundred and fifty miles away, Special Agent Gibbs sipped on his large cup of black coffee, which, to his surprise, didn't taste half-bad. He wouldn't put it past the Israelis to have done research on his preferred blend.

Smirking slightly at that thought, he turned his attention back to the open file spread out across his desk. Currently, he was reading through DiNozzo's report about the failed attempt on Ziva's life the other night. He was searching for some inconsistency that might help them in any way, but he hadn't come up with anything yet.

But then again, he'd just started.

As if on cue, McGee burst through the door to their hotel room, smiling triumphantly as he swung the door shut and held up a manila folder as he walked over to where Gibbs was sitting.

"Got something, Boss," he stated, still smiling at his superior. His face sobered a little when he saw Gibbs staring back at him.

"Care to share, McGee?"

McGee immediately placed the folder on top of Gibbs's pile and opened it up so that the man at the desk could see it better.

"Uh, well, with the help of Mossad and some of Fornell's people, I was able to crack several encrypted emails between an IP address in Gaza City to an address in Washington."

Gibbs looked at McGee expectantly.

"Yeah……how are the emails connected to our case?"

McGee seemed to get excited and shuffled a few of the papers around in the pile so that Gibbs was now looking at some of the deciphered emails.

"Every email from the address in Gaza City gives instructions and information about Ziva. Appearance, home and work address, description of her car, even places she likes to eat."

Gibbs ciphered through a few of the pages, but the print was too tiny and he felt McGee shifting uncomfortably next to him. When he looked up at his junior agent, he was frowning.

"Something wrong?" asked Gibbs, his tone almost patronizing.

"Well, it's not that I wished this happened or anything, but if they knew all that stuff, why wouldn't they just attack her in her apartment at night or something? Why risk doing it in broad daylight or on a street downtown?"

"She's Mossad, McGee - _Kidon_. Easier to kill if you don't actually face her."

McGee nodded slightly, but he still looked slightly confused. Maybe it was because it took until now for him to realize just how close Ziva had come to being killed. His line of thought was broken by his boss's voice.

"That all you got?" asked Gibbs, turning his icy stare back on his junior agent.

"No, actually, there's one more thing," he replied, shuffling around the papers a little more. Gibbs watched in irritation.

"I don't think you're gonna like it, Boss."

"What, McGee?" he demanded, his annoyance now clear.

"The IP address in Washington…it belongs to the personal computer of PFC Jason Walker. He got back from Iraq two months ago, and lives in an apartment about four blocks from Ziva's place."

Well yeah, that pissed Gibbs off, as did any Marine implicated in a crime, but he had a feeling McGee wasn't done yet. He was right.

"We were able to pull his bank records, and about four weeks ago he purchased a brand new M40A3 sniper rifle. He also deposited 100,000 dollars to an off-shore account."

"You're telling me Hamas terrorists hired a US Marine to assassinate Ziva?" asked Gibbs, taking off his glasses and staring angrily at his junior field agent.

"That's what it looks like. And I know you don't believe in coincidences," added McGee with a light chuckle. He stared at his boss, who was clearly unamused by his little quip.

His smile dropped as Gibbs rose from his seat and turned directly towards him.

"Call DiNozzo, call Ziva. We need to work on this thing together," he said in an authoritative tone, making his way towards the door. McGee's _on it _was unheard as he quickly strode out of the room.

He reappeared in the doorframe a second later.

"That's good work McGee," he said, before disappearing down the hallway again.

Feeling a little happier than he had a minute ago, McGee picked up his cell and pressed the speed dial for Tony's cell. After a few seconds of silence (service wasn't as good in Israel…), it started ringing.

And ringing.

And ringing.

And eventually it went to voicemail. Annoyed that Tony wasn't answering his phone, McGee left him a short and annoyed sounding message that told him to meet them here in half an hour.

He tried Ziva next, but she didn't answer either. He left her the same message, only his tone was slightly nicer.

After collectively calling both of them seven more times, McGee was seriously annoyed.

Not only were they not answering their phones, but Gibbs was likely to get angry with _him_, too. McGee hoped for the sake of everyone involved that his colleagues weren't doing anything stupid. Although, with DiNozzo…

McGee sighed, scrolling down his contacts to find the number he was supposed to use as a last resort. Well, Gibbs told him it was a last resort. He doubted that the team of Mossad officers in charge of surveillance at the safehouse would think of themselves as a last resort.

Gibbs re-entered the room, fresh cup of coffee in hand, just as McGee put the phone up to his ear. It didn't take long for the other end to pick up.

"Hi, this is Special Agent McGee, NCIS. I'm here with Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs waited, wondering just who his junior agent was talking to. He had an idea, but he hoped he was wrong. Slim chance.

"I need to speak with Agent DiNozzo and Officer David. Neither are answering their cell phones, and I don't have access to their landline."

Gibbs was impressed with the amount of authority in McGee's voice. But of course he would never admit it. McGee rolled his eyes at something the other line said.

"Yes, I realize that. But this is very important. Could you please check for me?"

Gibbs raised his eyebrows at McGee, who held the phone away from his mouth so he couldn't be overheard.

"Tony and Ziva didn't answer their phones, Boss, I figured you'd want me to…" he trailed off, turning his attention back into the phone as he heard voices on the line again.

"What? What do you mean?" asked McGee angrily, losing his patience with the person he was talking to. More muffled voices that Gibbs couldn't understand.

"Okay, hold on, did you actually _see _them leave?"

Gibbs stepped closer to McGee, his gut feeling getting worse by the second. He hoped this wasn't going where he thought it was.

"And no one entered the house? No one suspicious hanging around? You're sure?" asked McGee, knowing the officers were right but wishing they were wrong. He sighed before stealing a glance at Gibbs, who looked like he was approaching a boiling point.

"Alright, thanks. Stay where you are. Call me back if anything changes," replied McGee, his tone downcast. He hung up the phone and prepared himself for the wrath of Gibbs.

"Was that what I think it was?" asked Gibbs, furiously pointing to McGee's cell phone, screen still flashing from the end of his call. McGee just nodded and subconsciously took a small step backwards.

"Damn it! I told DiNozzo not to go anywhere without their escort!" Gibbs yelled, channeling his anger by slamming his old cup of coffee into the trashcan.

He turned back to McGee.

"Can you trace his phone right now?"

"Uh, yeah, well, I'll need a computer," stammered out McGee, hoping his boss wouldn't explode at him.

"Use that one," replied Gibbs shortly, pointing to the closed black laptop sitting unused on the coffee table. McGee nodded and practically ran over to the table, his fingers flying across the keys as he logged on and opened up the right program.

"This might take a few minutes," he warned, not wanting Gibbs to get prematurely angry when he didn't have results within his five-second patience reserve.

"Just do it as fast as you can," replied Gibbs, taking out his cell phone and squinting to try and read Fornell's number in the contact list McGee had set up for him. He didn't get a chance to dial the number as McGee's voice interrupted him.

"I got it, Boss. And Ziva's too. They're right on top of each other."

"Where?" demanded Gibbs, forgetting about the phone call he was about to make.

"Cairo. Looks like they're moving," said McGee slowly, confusion on his face. This certainly did not seem normal.

"Ah Christ, what the hell are they doing in Egypt?" shouted Gibbs, furiously turning on his heel and dialing Tobias's number. It was on the third ring when McGee's worried voice interrupted him again.

"Uh, Boss?"

"What, McGee?" he asked harshly, annoyed at everything around him.

"I just lost both their signals."

Gibbs just stared.

Oh, _shit_.

* * *

_Hey now, reviews are always welcome! Thanks muchachos! And thank you to those that already have reviewed!_


	11. Run

**Disclaimer**: I do not own NCIS or anything related to said TV show.

P.S. _You know what I find immensely entertaining? Even people that don't really watch or like NCIS, like Gibbs. For example, my brother, who doesn't watch the show, sees Gibbs say something and goes "That guy's a BOSS." For another example, one of my best friends, who doesn't really follow the show but has seen it a few times, goes "The guy with the gray hair knows what's up."_ _I laughed. Okay._

* * *

The first thing Tony became aware of was the smell - the filthy, acrid stench of melting rubber and clouded smoke.

He tried to clear his lungs and circulate some air through his nostrils, but it only resulted in a hacking, wheezy cough. He closed his eyes against the burning in his eyes and nose and tried to gain some bearing on his surroundings. He was barely aware of the blood dripping down his cheek.

There was something heavy and limp laying half on-top of his legs and waist, and any attempt at moving the useless object resulted in a searing and twisting pain in his right thigh. With a guttural yell he was able to use some adrenaline to push the thing off of his lower body, panting and grimacing when he was finished.

He was horrified to see that it was a corpse. Heavy, dead, and unmoving. Much of the skin was burned off, leaving only black and red patches of blood and tissue around the face and arms. The mouth was hanging open, held loosely by the broken jaw practically dangling from the face.

Instinctively Tony scooted backwards, his hands coming into contact with shards of hot metal, bits of gravel, and pieces of rubber. He stopped when the stabbing pains in his thigh overwhelmed him. He tried to steady his vision and catch his breath, but he only ended up focusing on the dead body sprawled out in front of him. He could see now that half the torso was torn off, exposing a shattered mess of blood and bone.

He promptly leaned to the side and vomited.

His head spun as his hands grasped tightly onto his bleeding and throbbing thigh, simultaneously trying to assess the damage and stop the piercing, burning spasms of pain. He let out another cough as he slowly shifted his body backwards, his instincts telling him to get the hell out of there.

As he moved closer to the sidewalk, the ringing in his ears quieted somewhat and he was greeted with the piercing sound of panicked screams and harsh shouting. It clouded his head and the only thing he could do was keep forcing himself backwards.

It was as his back came to rest against the hard surface of a wall that a thought entered his dulled mind and his chest seized up.

_Ziva_.

She had been right next to him when the car exploded, but it was all blank after that.

He craned his neck frantically to try and see through the thinning dark smoke and piles of burning debris, but it was futile. His vision was too unfocused and all of the disheveled masses strewn about the pavement were too difficult to identify. He strained his blurred eyes to keep scanning for any sign of his partner, but the sound of something moving dangerously close stopped him.

In a wheezing panic he reached for the knife holstered at his leg, clenching his jaw and bracing himself as he gripped the handle firmly in his hand, still shaking from the adrenaline. He didn't really know what he was doing.

He almost dropped the knife as Ziva appeared to his right, half-stumbling then falling down unceremoniously to her knees with a low grunt, but immediately straightening herself as she found what she was looking for – him.

Her shirt was dirty and the left half was stained deep red. Blood was flowing freely out of her previously wounded shoulder. She held that same arm closely to her chest, grimacing as she kneeled next to him.

He only managed to stare at her forearm– it was hanging awkwardly and had several red blotchy cuts contrasting with the swelling blue and purple of the broken bone.

He didn't take his eyes off her mangled wrist as she took the knife out of his lowered hand. His unintentional fixation with his partner's wounds was ended abruptly as he felt an extended burning sensation in his thigh.

Ziva had begun cutting through the ripped material in his jeans, hastily pulling out any embedded shards or splinters. It was this tender and distressful feeling that brought Tony back to his own injuries. He growled imperceptibly at the sound of tearing denim and the sight of freshly bleeding gashes, which luckily had all missed his femoral artery. Yeah, lucky.

He leaned forward a little bit and cleared his throat.

"I know you've always wanted to get into my pants, but it's really not a good t—" he began hoarsely, but he was interrupted.

"Stop talking," she replied quietly yet intensely, her eyes never leaving his tattered leg. He quickly obeyed and watched silently as she tore off her ruined shirt with her good hand, leaving her in a simple tank-top. She made quick work of cutting one of the seams of the shirt out and wrapping it around Tony's leg.

He bit his lip in silent agony as she lifted his leg to tie the knot in her makeshift bandage. The new throbbing and pulsing pain made his head pound and he wasted no time in turning over and vomiting, again.

She lightly squeezed his calf with her uninjured arm as he retched on the sidewalk, trying to ease him back into his senses and dull the pain in his leg. He closed his eyes against the wall and tried to calm his head.

When the feeling settled, his weary attention was alerted to harsh voices coming closer, shouting undecipherable words as they shuffled through debris and dead bodies. The callous yet rhythmic tones floated through the smoke and the dust, and even with his temporarily defective hearing, it was clear that there were people approaching.

Ziva stopped tending to Tony's bleeding thigh and craned her neck, powerful eyes searching for the source of the impending danger. Her heart beat increased as she scanned the unrelenting chaos that revealed nothing. She snapped her head back to Tony and snatched his discarded knife from the asphalt, realizing she was too late to arm herself with anything else.

A split-second later five shrouded figures emerged from behind a smoldering pile of wreckage and dead bodies, carrying semi-automatics and hardened gazes. They wore cargo pants and simple fitted shirts, the only contrast being the scarves around their necks. And when their heavy eyes fell on the two people crouched before them, they felt only hate.

"_Get up,_" one of them hissed, his dark features blazing with something unrecognizable. All of the guns were pointed at the two people on the ground. Tony couldn't understand what he assumed was vindictive Arabic.

His eyes flickered from the heated man to Ziva. She was breathing calmly, but her eyes were calculating and worried. She slowly raised her uninjured arm above her head in a nonthreatening position, keeping the knife concealed under the fingers of her broken, unmoved wrist. The man took a menacing step closer.

"_Get up, or the American dies,_" he spat, pushing the end of his gun closer to Ziva's head. Her eyes met Tony's, and for a second something flickered across his face, as if he was begging her not to try anything. She felt his apprehension in his stiffened muscles. Slowly she rose to her feet, never taking her eyes off Tony.

He could only watch as she impulsively flung herself around, thrusting the sharpened blade into the hilt of the one man's shoulder. He let out a rasping yell and staggered backwards, his gun clattering out of his hands. She kicked another man in the stomach and knocked his weapon to the pavement.

Her luck ran out when a man from behind her grabbed her broken wrist and twisted it backwards, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Ziva as the knife slipped out of her grip.

She tried to twist around and release her arm from her attacker, but she was stopped halfway by the sudden and crashing impact of a rifle butt to the side of her face. She collapsed to ground next to Tony, her upper body lying awkwardly on top of his legs.

He stared horrified at his unconscious partner, his sweating hands raised above his head in surrender. His head throbbed and his leg was on fire, but still he could not take his eyes off Ziva.

He didn't even realize the men had moved until they roughly threw a thick black hood over his head. He coughed involuntarily as they shoved his hands together and bound them with coarse rope.

More shouting, and Ziva was pulled off of him.

He couldn't fight back when they yanked him off his feet and thrust him forward.

* * *

_Some time later…_

The air was damp and thick.

Sweat beaded up on Tony's forehead and he could feel it soaking through his shirt, but thanks to his hands bound behind his back, he could do nothing about it as the salty moisture stung the corners of his eyes.

Although, it was preferable compared to having a scratchy hood covering his face.

He looked around again as his eyes finally adjusted to the current lighting, which was poor, to say the least. There was only a tiny window, about the size of a shoebox, resting at the top of the wall just below the ceiling. But he couldn't see any more from where he was sitting on the floor.

And honestly, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there.

He remembered being shoved into a vehicle, but he must've passed out sometime because the only thing he recalled after that was waking up in this basement. Or, part of a basement. It was more like a dingy walk-in closet. Only it was empty except for a few wooden crates and the two people currently being held there.

Two people.

He glanced at Ziva, slumped on the ground from where she had been thrown. She was still out.

He must've woken up at some point as their captors had brought him down here, because one of the first things he remembered was Ziva being dumped on the concrete next to him. One of the men had turned her face over with his boot, made a joke in a language Tony couldn't understand, then left.

She hadn't moved since then.

He went back to examining his surroundings, scoffing internally as he did so. As if he hadn't thoroughly done that already. Still, there was nothing to find.

The heavy steel door was bolted from the outside and the concrete walls were bleak and gray. The floor was a little dusty and a couple wooden crates lay undisturbed in the far corner. Everything you'd expect from a normal basement.

Only this wasn't a normal basement. Normal basements weren't suited for captured federal agents.

And it was just _so_ typical. Who conveniently has a room in their basement with a door that locks from the outside? And who just wanders around explosion sites with semi-automatics?

And _that_, is exactly the reason why Tony concluded that this had been planned. Otherwise, they would've been killed without a second's hesitation. Instead they were brought here, to what he assumed was their terrorist headquarters.

But Tony was in a locked room with his hands tied and a bleeding leg.

So knowing that information didn't mean shit.

With a scowl he turned back to his partner, and was surprised to see her awake and sitting against the wall to his right. Looks like he had been too wrapped up in this place and their new situation to notice, something which made him a little uneasy.

She glanced back at him with dull discomfort.

"You are bleeding," she said quietly, nodding her head to indicate his thigh, where blood had soaked through his temporary bandage.

"I was expecting something a little more dramatic," he replied without much expression. He glanced back down at his stinging injury. "And yeah, I noticed."

She turned away, grimacing as she tried to readjust her bound hands to a less painful position. Considering the broken wrist, that was a difficult task.

He got a glimpse of the busted side of her face for a second, but he quickly dropped his gaze as she turned back to face him.

"How long have we been here?"

"An hour, maybe two. You've been out for a while though," he added, this time nodding and indicating _her_ injuries. She looked away again at his penetrating gaze.

"They have not come back?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'they'."

"Who else could I possibly mean? Gibbs?" she asked sarcastically, clearly frustrated at their situation. Tony didn't miss a beat.

"Well for a second I thought you were talking about my hunger pangs. But now that you mention it, I don't wanna know what Gibbs will do when he finds us here."

Ziva raised an eyebrow at his choice of his words.

"You think it will be _that_ easy for him to find us?"

"Remember when we were trapped in that shipping container? Or when we hid in the evidence locker after that one prank went wrong? Not to mention how he single-handedly got all our jobs back. He always finds us. Hasn't failed yet," ranted Tony, forgetting the pain in his leg for a second and sending a confident smile at Ziva.

"I am not so sure Gibbs would agree with you," replied Ziva, focusing on her bleeding shoulder and shifting her position a little.

"Wait a minute, are you saying the great jefe _has_ failed before?"

She continued observing her shoulder, but her eyes weren't really seeing.

"I am saying he blames himself for the deaths of people he cares about, yes?"

He tilted his head and continued to study her. For a second he wonders if there was something behind that statement. He sees her clenched jaw and haunted eyes and he stops wondering.

She slowly rolls over onto her knees and rises to her feet. He just watches her as she moves around the room, examining the walls and the ceiling.

"I thought you'd be out of those by now," he says half-mockingly, indicating the thick rope tying her hands behind her back. She doesn't stop to look at him as she responds.

"If I move my hands I will only further injure my wrist. And since they have removed my weapons, the use of one hand would be pointless, Tony."

"Oh."

He wanted to point out that she could probably kill someone with one hand if she tried, but he let it slide. She probably wouldn't appreciate the interruption of her current…investigation.

"Uh, what…exactly, are you doing?" he asked lightly, watching her push furiously against the door with her good shoulder.

"Trying to find a way to get out of this," she replied, taking a step back and putting more force into her shoulder-shove. It still didn't move. As if she expected it to.

"Oh. Knock yourself out," he added sarcastically, having already inspected the entire room multiple times and not coming up with anything that didn't involve Hollywood. But he didn't think Ziva would appreciate that, either.

"I do not think that would help. They could easily revive me," she replied quickly, as if his comment was completely normal and they were swapping suggestions in all seriousness. Tony rolled his eyes but said nothing.

She moved over toward the empty crates in the corner.

"So Ziva, what are our chances?" asked Tony after a few seconds of silence. She turned to look at him in confusion.

"Chances of what?"

"Oh come on, Miss Mossad, haven't you been in these situations before?" he chided lightly, shifting his position against the wall. It was really starting to get uncomfortable.

"Yes - three times. But believe me, they were very different from this situation," she added casually. She finally gave up on trying to bust out of their room and slid to the floor across from him.

"Oh, do tell."

She cocked an eyebrow at his sarcastic tone but indulged him.

"The first time was an extended exercise as part of my training for Mossad."

"I'm guessing you passed with flying colors," he muttered darkly.

She smirked slightly, letting her expression answer for her. He snorted at her reaction but let her continue.

"The second time was a result of bad intel on a mission in Istanbul. My cover was compromised but my partner extracted me before it got out of control."

Tony doubted that his and her definitions of _out of control_ were the same. But if that was the case, she didn't elaborate on it.

"And the third time?" he asked, unsure of whether he really wanted to know or not. This time, she hesitated slightly and turned her head.

"I was with Jen on an anti-terrorism op in Cairo, actually. She received most of the…penalty…before we were released."

A dark and skeptical shadow passed over Tony's face. He didn't know that Ziva and Director Shepard went that far back. Or that they had gone through something like that.

Wait a second.

"Released?" he questioned doubtfully, hardly believing that guys being hunted by Mossad and American intelligence were likely to just let their prisoners go. Ziva's face remained stoic.

"I was able to subdue one of the guards and eliminate the rest of the cell holding us."

When it became clear that she wasn't going to say anything more about it, Tony cleared his throat and tried to get them off that line of thought. It was unsettling to him on a level that he couldn't explain.

"Okay, so, how are those so different from now? I mean, I _know_ you still have ninja skills, right?"

Apparently this was not what she wanted to hear because quickly stood up again and sent an irritated glance in his direction.

"Because, Tony! This time the only people capable of extracting us are hundreds of miles away and don't even know we are missing! And we have no means of getting out or communicating with anyone. You cannot even stand, and I can only use one arm! So even if we _did_ manage to somehow escape, we would not be able to go anywhere!" she spit out rapidly, pacing around their small space.

She ended her rant with a furious kick at the wooden crates, which scuffled across the concrete with an echoing rattle. She slid to the floor and shut her eyes, breathing deeply. Her expression turned to a frown and she opened her eyes to find Tony staring softly at her.

"We really stepped in it, didn't we?" he asked quietly, not bothering to hide that he was looking at her bruised and bleeding cut from the rifle on her cheek.

The uneasy expression on her face was enough for him. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

God, _damn_ it.

They really should've just stayed in the States.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews always welcome. Always :)_


	12. Outside

**Disclaimer:** NCIS or anything directly related to it is not one of my possessions.

* * *

"_A long long time ago, I can still remember how that music…used to make me smile,_" sang Tony, his soft voice floating between the concrete walls and over their little prison cell. 'Little prison cell' – as if the idea was amusing. But oh, it wasn't.

"_And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those…people dance, and maybe they'd be happy…for awhile._"

He was doing it partly to annoy Ziva, partly to pass the time, and partly because secretly it echoed his own feelings in a way that only made sense to him. It was kind of nice.

"_But February made me shiver, with every paper I'd de-liver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take…one more step._"

Ziva was glaring at him now, her dark eyes fixed on his one-man show from across the short distance of floor that separated them. Somehow, the swollen bruise surrounding the cut on her cheek made the look less intimidating.

"_I can't remember if I cried when I…read about his widowed bride. But something touched me deeeeep inside, the day, the muuuusic……died._"

Briefly he wonders if there are guards just outside the door, listening to him. And if there are, he knows he really should shut up. He doubts they'd appreciate his impromptu concert. But after roughly two days without any contact from their captors, he's kind of hoping they _do_ hear him. He raises his voice a little higher and pretends not to notice Ziva's death glares.

"_So bye bye, Miss American P_—"

"Would you _please_ stop singing? You are giving me a headache," snapped Ziva quickly, pinching the bridge of her noise and leaning her head back against the wall.

Well, he actually saw that one coming. And he had his doubts about his singing being the only thing responsible for her headache.

"It's a classic American song, Ziva. I can't help it."

"I am not American," she replied matter-of-factly, her head still resting against the wall.

"Still a classic song…" muttered Tony, dropping his voice and going back to sitting idly against his claimed section of the wall. Besides singing, and talking to Ziva, it was just about all he could do.

And actually the singing was mostly to distract himself from his internal conflict of talking to Ziva.

He wanted to talk to her, because his curiosity and the gravity of the past few weeks have him feeling uncertain yet solid in his conclusions at the same time. He just wants to know, because he can, and he should. And because he feels it, too.

And yet he doesn't want to talk to her, because he doesn't know where to start or how to say it.

'_Oh hey, I wanted to ask you about that incident the other day. You know, the one with your sister…'_

What a joke. Seriously, it was laughable.

'_So Ziva, I was just wondering what exactly happened with your sister. I know it's a sore subject, but…"_

Not even close.

How was this supposed to go? It was impossible to bring it up casually, as the topic was far from casual and he knows that the emotional wound has torn her apart. He couldn't just ask her– the question would be awkward and tense. And he couldn't start a different conversation and 'accidentally' lead her down that path. She was far too perceptive and guarded to fall for that.

He wanted to respect her decision not to talk about it, but…it wasn't really enough for him. He needed to know, if only for her.

He didn't even realize he was staring at her until her tired voice cut through the silence.

"If you are going to say something, please just say it."

He felt like McGee every time he got caught stumbling over his thoughts. And _of course_ she would know he was looking at her. Although, there wasn't much else to look at, so maybe it wasn't that lucky of a guess.

He cleared his throat and pretended he hadn't been staring.

"Ziva, I…just…you never said what happened to Tali," he said quietly, trying to soften the accusation. Because it wasn't really an accusation. It was just a statement. He didn't know how else to say it.

Her eyes snapped open and she quickly brought her head forward, meeting his pensive gaze with a questioning look of her own. It was hard not to see the sincerity on his face.

"She is dead," she replied, her voice hollow and unfeeling.

And that type of response was exactly what he was afraid of, and why he was so curious. Although he decided it could hardly be called curiosity. He wasn't a damn cat, and this was his partner's pain, not simple unexplored territory.

"I know that."

Really, he did. He had tried not to pry, out of respect, and because on some level he knows he has never understood her completely, so he stayed silent and allowed her to keep her distance. But now it's just them, and he can't really leave it alone. So he goes with it.

"What happened?"

His heart aches for her, because he knows she is asking herself the same question. She looks at him again, and feels his affectionate honesty radiating off him. So she'll tell him.

"I called in some favors to get the information I needed. It took some time, but I have contacts that the CIA does not have access to. After waiting for the right intel, I was finally given an address for what was speculated to be a secret terrorist hideout."

He had gathered that much for himself, since Kadin had told them Tali had been working an undercover op involving terrorist-like people.

"I do not know how long they tortured her. When I found her, she only lasted a few minutes before she…" Ziva trailed off, her eyes falling to the floor and her voice getting heavier.

He suddenly gets an image of sniper bullets flying and blood on his face, and he gets it. A gut feeling, but it's not the same.

"Where were they keeping her?" he asks, the conclusions and the theories forming in his mind before he even asks the question.

"Somewhere miles away from the city. It was very well hidden."

"Do you think maybe, we're being held by the same guys?" he asked, getting hopeful despite their situation.

Her brow furrows and her eyes narrow, but her poorly concealed anger is not directed at him.

"Those men are dead," she spits out, her entire body tensed up with something difficult to express. "I killed them."

And for a second he witnesses something indescribable on her face, like a power too great for words, something beyond everyday emotion. Something elusive and untouchable. It is infinitely dark and beautiful at the same time.

And she just wants to cry.

* * *

Tony doesn't really know what to do, since there still has been no contact, Ziva isn't really talking, and he's starting to realize several things.

One – that their captors should be around soon, because if they wanted Tony and Ziva to live, they would need food, or at least water. And if they didn't want them to live, Tony was sure they would've been killed already.

Two – that this is the longest he has been in constant danger. And that this wasn't like every other dangerous situation. The possibility of dying here was much more real and raw than anything before.

Three – that he's more worried about Ziva than himself. And that's the truth. He's never cared about himself as much as he should've.

He is snapped back into this dim reality by the sound of muffled voices and the solid door creaking open. A few strands of light filter in from the opening, but nothing really changes. He sees Ziva's eyes shoot to the door, and he tries to see who's coming through it.

One man shuffles in casually, his tan boots leaving small imprints on the dirty floor. He has a pistol strapped to his leg, but otherwise he appears to be unarmed. He drops a single bottled water onto the floor between them, the plastic scuffling as it rolls away. Naturally they watch it with interest, and turn back to the man when it stops moving. The man ignores their blatant and questioning stares and turns to exit the way he came.

He stops midway when his body is facing Ziva. She looks up at him through her swollen cheek and busted lip, defiance burning in her eyes.

He laughs, cold and derisive. His eyes are malicious and flickering with amusement. He spits on her and she turns her face.

He leaves and the light is gone.

Tony watches the door some time after the man is gone, and he tries to make sense of what just happened. He looks back to the water bottle in the middle of the floor and he recognizes his parched throat and dry mouth.

But then, how is he supposed to drink it? He can't use his hands. He instinctively glances at Ziva for the answer.

"Just use your mouth," she says, closing her eyes for a second and repositioning herself with a grimace as she moves towards the water. He should find it more surprising that he doesn't think of a _that's what she said_ joke, just to distract them from the real situation.

He unscrews the cap with his hands, although somewhat slowly (they _are_ behind his back), and groans as he rolls off his bad leg to turn around and face the bottle. He grabs the top of it with his teeth and lets it fall into his mouth.

It is crude, and frustrating, but it works.

The water is warm and sticks in his mouth, but it's refreshing and very much needed. Some of it spills to the ground before he signals to Ziva that he's done with it. She drinks a little more greedily than he does and coughs when she's finished.

He wonders if Poland Springs has ever tasted that good. A voice in his head says of course not, you dumbass. And he knows that they are in for some serious shit.

He wishes he has the energy to get up and kick the stupid bottle at the door. He notices that now Ziva is sitting next to him, and not across from him. He settles for silent brooding.

"A pizza would've been nice," he says dryly, glancing at the door. But the joke is empty and the words are dead.

They wait.

Time passes, and it could be hours, or less than an hour. He doesn't really know, and isn't that the way it always goes?

She is sleeping, or resting, or pretending to sleep. He knows _he_ hasn't truly slept more than a few minutes since they were brought here. Given the circumstances…

Ziva stirs slightly and his attention is once again brought to the door, which is suddenly slammed open and he jumps involuntarily. She doesn't. She just glares at them.

Three men this time, each one with similar tanned skin and dark hair, each one glaring right back. One of them says something to one of his companions and they reach down and roughly heave Ziva up by her shoulders.

"Hey!" yells Tony, and he angrily tries to stand up but is pushed back down by a menacing boot to the chest. They waste no time in pointing two guns directly at his head.

When Ziva lashes out and kicks one of them, they punch her in the face. There is a sickening dull crack, and her head is thrown back. They tighten their vicious grip to keep her from falling to the floor and the blood from her nose flows onto her face. Some of it falls to the ground in front of Tony, and he is disgusted.

Then suddenly she is gone, ripped away from him.

And he is so _pissed_.

* * *

_Review if you so desire :) I'm hungry. Oh, and my apologies about the relative shortness of this chapter._


	13. Fighters

**Disclaimer: **The wonderful world of NC to the IS is not mine. It just doesn't belong to me.

* * *

The only sound she can hear is the sound of her own breathing. Her chest rises and falls with each new breath and somehow, the airy sound is amplified by her broken nose. At least, she thinks it's broken. Judging by the sticky wetness covering her mouth and chin and running down her neck, that's a pretty accurate thought. Not to mention the heavy throbbing.

But it doesn't really matter, because she can't do anything about it. Her hands are tied tightly behind her back, her one broken wrist sending shooting pains up her arm after being twisted unnaturally. She can't get up, due to the fact that her ankles are also bound with thick rope. The chair she's sitting on, a simple plastic fold-up (how economically savvy of them), doesn't even have arms so she can't swing it and take down her captor or something of that nature.

All she can do is wait.

She retreats back to listening to her own breathing again, giving her something to focus on. She tries, unsuccessfully, to block out any thoughts about Tony and his condition. She doesn't even know where he is – she was barely lucid when they dragged her out here. But she can't focus on him right now. She can't. She has to focus on getting answers. Getting out.

_Shit_.

She can't do it.

How did this happen? This was _not _supposed to happen. They were together, and then all the sudden they weren't. What. The. _Hell?_

She can't do it. Stop. Think logically. Be rational.

But that's the thing. She _is _being rational. And she knows it. Knows it in her heart, her bones.

_He could be dead_.

She tries to cling onto hope, but she just can't get there. Maybe it's the pain in her nose and wrist. Maybe it's the hunger and the sweat and the stink of being a prisoner for three days. Maybe it's her training. Or maybe it's Tali's sweet face lying cold on the concrete floor, eyes closed forever.

She knows that, now, she has very little hope. It's been three days. She's not so sure she ever had much hope to begin with. And she finds that she can't stop picturing him dead.

She focuses on her lap, her once-khaki pants now stained with dirt, singed burn marks, and flecks of blood from her nose and minor cuts from the explosion that landed her here. She breathes in and out, repeatedly. This was not about him. It was never about him.

Still there is only the sound of her breathing.

Until she hears a door swing open, somewhere above. It draws her out of her dim corner and instantly puts her on complete alert, her muscles tensing and body stiffening. She stops listening for her own breathing. The sound of footsteps pounding down the wooden stairs carries over to her part of the basement (or bunker, or whatever the hell it was), and she finds herself glaring in steely anticipation.

One man rounds the corner quickly, but suddenly slows his pace down dramatically as he approaches her. He slowly walks closer to her chair. Not afraid, or excited. He just feels what he feels and takes his time. He meets her glaring brown eyes with a calculating look of his own. He holds it.

He is only one man, but he hates her. Everything about her. From her hair, to her exotic features, to the simple clothes she's wearing. Everything that she stands for, everything that she believes in. Her religion, her name, her country. Everything that he guesses she's done, and everything that he knows she could do.

She disgusts him. A part of him wishes the idiotic Marine would've finished the job. And the other part just wants to be here, festering in his feelings and his memories and his strength.

He may have loved, once. Before the air strikes and the bombings and the violence. Before he was set on fire with a passion to fight an enemy he didn't understand, or want to understand. Before his family turned on him and he found new brothers who shared his ideas and animosity.

And now, his emotional capacity is gone, and he is only one person. He's an ordinary man, and yet he's not.

He is, because he's replaceable. Anyone was capable of it. Anyone could follow orders and find themselves down here. There were hundreds of men who could be doing this, who could be in his position. Just another soldier for another cause.

And yet he isn't, because he's here now, in front of her. And he hates her.

He doesn't take any amusement from her battered appearance. There is no sadistic pleasure, no maniacal laughter. He is not some twisted low-life who takes comfort in dark places hearing cries of pain. He doesn't enjoy it.

But he feels it. It radiates off him and in him and through him. It invades his mind and his cold heart and his hands. He can see clearly, he is very aware. It just burns and simmers beneath his chest as he holds her gaze and glares right back. It is an undeniably seductive feeling of power.

He just hates her.

He takes a half-step forward and lifts up her chin, crusted with streaks of dried blood, so that she is forced to look up at him. Her jaw clenches and her glare flickers from the hand touching her to his intense and shadowed eyes.

"What do you want?" she questions sharply, her throat dry as she spits the words out.

She hasn't had water since yesterday, and she's been sitting here all night (or what she thinks is night), without saying anything. Her voice is a little rougher than she intended.

His eyes narrow a bit and he drops his hand.

"From you?" he asks mockingly, his smoothly accented voice floating above her. "To wait, to die, who knows? Personally, I do not really care."

She continues to glare at him. His smug attitude and casually thrown out words reveal nothing, and she tries again, her jaw still clenched angrily.

"Why did you bring me here?" she questions heatedly, raising her voice slightly and her dark eyes demanding an answer. Their usual color seems even darker when contrasted with bruising around her cheek.

He considers this for a moment, confident enough to continue.

"We need more time. The stupid American could not finish the job and there are still some things left unfinished. But do not worry, it will not be long," he replied with a smirk, his eyes flickering from her face to her oozing shoulder, where the wound had reopened, again.

Ziva looks back up at him defiantly and wishes she was close enough to kick him.

"You know your plan will never work. Mossad is not so stupid to let the actions of men like you go unnoticed."

He steps forward dangerously and he slams his fist directly into her jaw, sending her reeling to the side with a grunt as she feels the corner of her lip split open.

"I do not care what the Mossad or your pathetic American friends can do! You know nothing, Israeli bitch," he shouts out fiercely, his hand still held at chest level, ready to strike again at the person he loathes so much. "And as for our plan, just by sitting there, you are speeding the process."

She pulls herself upright again, ignoring the exaggerated swelling feeling and the pulsing ache of her jaw. The small cut on her lip stings as she opens her mouth to speak again. Her voice is firm and condescending.

"You do not have the balls to kill me, then," she sneers, her fiery resistance laced in her words. She speaks it as truth, and it gives her something to fight with, but she knows, somewhere, that it isn't true.

He unclenches his balled fist and suddenly encloses his fingers around her throat, squeezing and tilting her neck upwards as he glowers down at her. His voice lowers and he is right near her face.

"Believe me, _Officer_ David, you will be dead soon."

She can hardly breathe or swallow, and for a second he just holds his grip, staring down at her. When he releases her, she involuntarily coughs a little and feels her throat scratch even more. His unforgiving face is still dangerously close to hers.

She leans forward with a jerk and quickly spits in his taunting face. He takes a step back, wipes it off slowly, and hesitates for a second. Her eyes are narrowed in rebellion.

His unflinching fist comes out of nowhere and makes contact with the same part of her jaw. It throws her head, but she keeps her overall balance and manages to stay mostly upright. The stinging cut on her lip opens a little wider and the pulsing ache strongly discomforts her.

She looks back at his wild and raging eyes and suddenly finds herself laughing. His fingers are balled up into his thick fist, his knuckles white from the angry pressure. He looks like murder, and she laughs. It is a dark and ironic laugh, and it is so ridiculously _unfunny_, but she can't stop. She lowers her voice and looks him directly in the eye.

"Fuck you."

He looks for a second as if he's going to smile, but the twitching of his mouth turns into a menacing grimace and he moves with a flurry of heated anger and determined motion. He rips the chair out from underneath her with one hand and pushes her to the floor with the other.

She slams onto the concrete with a dull thud and lets out a stifled groan as her broken wrist makes contact with the hard surface and the weight of her side pushes against it. The chair is thrown aside and forgotten. He hovers over her for a moment, scowling, without speaking.

Then his boot slams into her ribs, once, twice, three times. At the fourth kick, she finds herself gasping for air and instinctively curling into herself, trying unsuccessfully to protect her abdomen from further punishment.

She closes her eyes and fights for breath as he realizes that he no longer has access to her ribs, which are sending shooting and piercing pains all throughout her torso and chest. She coughs violently as he takes a step backwards to observe her.

Even when she is writhing and hacking on the floor, he feels nothing but hate.

She ignores him as he steps over her folded body, squatting down behind her back. He takes one look at the mangled bruising of the one swollen wrist and yanks it back towards him, twisting it as much as the rope would allow him.

She yells out unexpectedly and wheezes frantically as she tries to twist and pull away from him, but the pain only worsens as she thrashes violently and aggravates her burning and stabbing ribs. It is only when hot salty tears sting her eyes and leave streak marks down her dirty face that he releases her.

She breathes heavily and fights to control it as the stinging tears cling to her wet face. She tries to cough to clear the wheezing rattle but it only jostles her ribs further. She lays there through labored breathing and hardly notices him step back over her, turning around to face her when he stands up again.

She feels his hovering and vengeful presence standing over her and looks up at him through blurred eyes.

Now, she knows, their hatred is mutual.

"Goodnight, _Ziva_," he says with spite, bringing his boot down on her already smashed face one last time. Blood spurts a little bit, and she feels a new wetness running from somewhere. Her vision spins, and she tries to remain focused, but she settles into a sort of half-awareness that has her living through pain and floating at the same time.

He simply turns and walks away, the sounds of his retreating footsteps going up the stairs echoing down into the still of the basement air. He knows it smells of blood and sweat and something indefinable, and he doesn't care.

He just leaves her alone, crying silently on the floor.

* * *

Somewhere, in another room, Tony tries to think of a better time when things like this didn't happen. He tries, so _hard_, but he can't do it.

All he can think of is how Ziva was suddenly taken away from him, and all he had left was this empty room. One second she was there, then one second her face was cracked and bleeding and they were dragging her out.

He tries not to imagine her lying somewhere, life leaving with every breath as she waits for a death she has no control over. He tries not to tell himself that his last moments with her involved him being overpowered and an angry door slamming in his face. He tries not to feel angry and useless and betrayed somehow.

He wants to forget, to be numb, to have hope, to pray. But he just can't do it.

He thinks he hears a voice in his head and wonders if he's beginning to go insane. That's when he comes to the conclusion that this waiting and mental torment is far worse than whatever he's waiting for.

But he doesn't give a crap, not for a second, because he can't stop himself and he has never felt more alone.

He tries not to think about how Gibbs wasn't there, what Gibbs would be doing in his situation, how Gibbs could never lose. He tries not to picture Gibbs silently blaming him. He tries not to think how Gibbs would never have let this happen. He tries not to think of Gibbs at all.

He tries not to feel like a child, like someone who has been cheated and learns the lessons about how life isn't fair. He tries not to tell himself that death really isn't fair either.

_Shit._

He turns his head and brings his face to his shoulder, wiping away the sweat from his forehead that stings under his eyes. The heat of the small space does nothing for him and he finds himself wiping every few minutes until he just stops caring.

_She could be dead._

He wipes his face again, and this time there is more than just sweat on his shoulder.

* * *

_Review if you want to make me happy (doesn't everyone?). Oh, jokes. Still, thanks to those who have reviewed. It is always welcome and appreciated! _


	14. Lithium

**Disclaimer:** I claim that NCIS or things affiliated with it are not mine. Okay.

* * *

Ziva was exhausted. Unequivocally and undeniably _exhausted_.

And although she tried to find sleep or some semblance of restful solace, the dirty and stifling silence had offered her nothing. Her mind was tormented by every sound, every agonizing second, and every beat in her heart. She could barely think without feeling stabs of pain all throughout her ribs and chest, let alone move. She simply lay there on the cold and unforgiving concrete, sweating through her labored breathing.

Funny, though, because she was past the point of caring. She would not cry – she had nothing left to give to the floor.

Her mind wanders as she stares down the wall so emptily glaring at her from across the room. At least, she thinks it's a wall.

For a second she thinks it might be an angry gray ocean, powerful and expansive and impossible to touch. Waves rising and falling as she waits out the night. But the image fades as quickly as it comes. She doesn't even bother to chalk that up to the shitty conditions she has been held in. Deciphering between delusion and reality took far too much energy. This was much easier.

She first thinks of her own end. She knows deep within her aching heart that it _is_ coming. Whatever feeble hopes she had of escape or rescue had now dwindled into the dust that covered the floor. Tears or no tears, her life was going to end. The heavy and raw reality of it gripped at her heart and pierced her sides with clawing pains. Is this what Tali felt as she waited alone for her last breath?

Admittedly, Ziva had not pictured it like this. And when it came down to it, when any chance of being saved was gone and when the sinking realization fell to her stomach, she did not want to go. And that was the cruel part. She had no choice.

She briefly pictures life after death, but the images are just hopeful flashes and nothing more. There was a point, once, when she would have spit out her beliefs and convictions with pride in her eyes and certainty in her heart. Now? She is not so sure. And if she does believe, she wonders who will be waiting for her. Mothers she can hardly remember? Brothers she wishes she could forget? Sisters and friends she should have protected? _Tony_?

How she wishes she didn't have to think that.

But maybe there will not be anyone, and their faces will have passed like shadows and smoke. Shattered lives in shattered pieces. Maybe she will just melt away into the sandy beaches of the summer nights of her childhood.

Instinctively she tries to call on the presence of her necklace around her neck, but quickly remembers that she took it off when they left Israel. What a useless irony.

She thinks back on a time when it _was _there, when it stood for everything she believed in.

She had given everything for Israel and Mossad. Not just her trained and toned mind and body – everything. Her _soul_. She had only known white and blue. She fought proudly alongside her brother. Fought to please her father. Fought for her people's history of suffering. And then things changed, and Tali was gone, and she knew only red. All of the sudden she was fighting for her sister and her own pain. She had risked her life numerous times to fulfill her duty and her need to feel alive. She had seen and dealt with death and destruction on almost every continent. She killed and bled for her loyalty.

_Do what is necessary._

Her father's words from the dream that had plagued her for weeks and haunted her nights echoed around her brain and dulled her senses. All of the sudden she felt like spitting. She had _always_ done what was necessary.

And for what? For this?

Perhaps not in an ideal world, but she was never one for idealism. Her world was one where blood will spill, guns will kill, and the sun will rise for a new dawn. Some people will never deserve what they get, and some people will never get what they deserve. People will hide from their lovers and murder their brothers and lie to their fathers. People will watch their sisters die and their partners fall apart. People will die alone in an empty room, hands and heart bound to their fate.

The beating sounds of footsteps filtered down the wooden stairs, and she wishes she was anywhere but still lying on the filthy floor. She is sitting exactly where he left her, and she finds it disgusting that she cannot summon the energy to move or even look at him as he descends into the corner she is resigned to.

He noisily picks up the discarded chair off the floor and hastily sets it down in the middle of the room again, only a few feet away from her tired body. He steps to the side and looks down at her.

"Get up."

Her clouded mind is unable to register what he says, or that he's even talking. His boot pushes her shoulder and turns her onto her back. She lets out a quiet groan as the pressure of her body weighs down on her wrist.

"Get up," he says again, this time louder. She still does not look at him or his burning eyes. She could not move even if she wanted to.

Forceful hands heave her roughly off the ground, and she wheezes sharply at the sudden stinging sensation stabbing her sides. He drops her heavily into the chair and tightly holds her shoulders to prevent her from falling right back over. Her vision spins for a minute as she tries to calm the flaming pain.

When she finally looks at him, she notices he is actually two men and that his companion looks only slightly less menacing than he does. It makes little difference that they are two different people. Ziva wants to kill them both.

The first man, the same as yesterday, steps forward and forces her jaw open with the masculine strength flowing through his veins. Before she can even try to turn her head away, the second man is pouring warm water in her mouth and over her chapped lips. The unexpectedness of it causes her to cough violently, choking on the intrusion. He pulls back only for a second to allow her to regain her breath before he hastily lets her drink the rest of the bottle to cool her parched throat.

She breathes quickly as she waits and lets the precious liquid settle.

Then, without much warning, her stomach convulses and she promptly leans forward and gives it all right back. Some of her vomit sprays over the front of the man's shirt, and he takes a quick step back and drops the bottle, disgusted. He curses fluently at her and retreats back up the stairs with his vindictive stomping.

A door slams and her attention is brought back to the dark man still standing in front of her.

He has heat in his eyes and hate at the tip of his fingers. She manages to stare for a moment before the back of his hand viciously flies across her face. The force of it turns her head, and the numbing ache of her bruised cheeks returns with a fresh sting.

He is still glaring at her when she brings her head back to center. Her mind is telling her that she should be watching his hands and reading his body language, but the only thing she is capable of focusing on is the discarded bottle on the floor. She stares at it and tastes the rotting stench of vomit in her mouth.

This – this was it?

The man observes her in calculating silence as he slowly reaches down to pick up the bottle. Her fading eyes narrow and she fights to calm her shallow breathing.

"Pathetic," he says lowly, smirking thinly as his back turns away from her.

She does not watch him as he leaves and carries his complacent anger back up the stairs. She does not care.

And between all of this, she stops wondering why.

She did not arrange to be shot at on the highway or to be ambushed in the city streets. She did not ask for her sister to die right when she was returning home. She did not set herself up to be caught in an explosion and captured by terrorists.

So did she bring this whole situation upon herself? Realistically, no.

But the image of Tali's battered and innocent face coil around her heart and Ziva thinks, just as realistically,

_Yes._

* * *

It's been four days.

Tony thought it would be harder to keep track of such a detail, but he knew. Every time the golden flecks of light would sink past the window and the dusty white of the moon would filter in, he would count.

Four days, and all he has been able to do is get the stupid ropes off his hands. It took incredible effort, and his chafed wrists are bleeding and stinging, but to him, it was definitely worth it. It was his only accomplishment in this entire mess of a situation.

He lies on his back and looks up at the ceiling, trying to imagine that he isn't stuck in an empty room guarded by gunmen in the middle of the desert. Hundreds of miles away from where he should be, and hundreds and hundreds of miles away from where he wants to be.

But maybe it won't be so bad – dying and everything. Maybe they'll just put a bullet through his head and it will be finished just like that. No famous last words, no blinding white light. Just bam, and fuck it, he's gone. He'll float away and never even know he's dead.

But underneath everything, behind all of the many layers of DiNozzo, he does not want to die. Not when he could have, _should_ have, done something to prevent it. Not when his partner was so cruelly torn away from him without a second thought. Not when all he wanted to is just go home and blow this place into the sky and out of his mind.

He does not think of what he would do if they ever got out of here. Because he knows, deep in his bones. He is not getting out of here, and thinking about it only makes it worse. And as he sits alone, starving and fading in this hated room, he remembers that there probably isn't even a 'they' anymore.

How he wished they would have taken him with her.

But instead he is left to die in a dusty cell, thinking about all the things he should never have done. All the relationships he'd screwed over and the relationships that screwed him over. All of the things he wishes he had the balls to say, and some things that he knows he would never say anyway. With a quiet snort, he remembers that this is the way it always goes, isn't it?

Well, at least he can say that only a DiNozzo can die thinking of all the pepperoni and sausage pizzas he'll never get to eat.

When was the last time he ate something, anyway? He tries not to think about the rumbling ache of his stomach that has long since faded. Now it's just a staggering emptiness that has him unable to really move or focus on anything.

Except time. The minutes are long and tormenting, and he has no way of knowing if it's been an hour or three hours. But when the sun goes down, and it's just him and the darkness, he knows. It's like he's floating above himself, feeling and not feeling at the same time.

He doesn't feel much else but the time. The stinging and searing of the gashes on his leg has mostly faded and he pretends not to notice what's oozing through the makeshift bandage. He does not really care anyway.

It's been four days.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Reviews welcome :) Toodles!_


	15. World

**Disclaimer: **NCIS is so not mine.

P.S._ By the way, I'm sorry about the small syntax/grammar errors that may or may not be present in this chapter, and all the chapters. As I went back to look over some of the earlier ones I picked up on said errors, and felt bad. So anyway, my apologies. Continue. _

* * *

On the fifth day, she is not so sure what she feels.

Whenever she thought about it, she found that she wasn't capable of consistently feeling one thing for very long. It would come in spurts – random bursts of life and alertness interrupted by spans of nothingness. At times she would feel a weight gripping at her chest, pulling her down into the incredible sadness and sense of loss that ruined her days and haunted her nights. Or an impossible fury causing her to twist and burn until her wrists would bleed and she was too tired to be angry. Then the apathy would seep in and she was reduced to an empty shadow, feeling nothing but the cold silence echoing off the walls.

She couldn't decide which was worse.

Either way, it did not matter. Not really. The time passed just as slowly (or quickly, really) and the walls were just as grey. The air remained thick and stifling, curling around her as she tried to control her own elusive mind, which, admittedly, was failing. Sometimes the walls became not walls and she would see faces and places that swirled in her memory and eventually faded into concrete.

Or maybe, maybe she was just dreaming.

She dreams about them all.

She dreamt of a dusty basement, smelling of warm wood and musky alcohol. A place of family and a place of regret, but it is a sanctuary all the same. An eager young learner with a bright smile and a genuine heart. A trustworthy man and mentor who has lost too much. A caring old man who knows and sees everything A compassionate woman with a knowing smile and a bouncing energy, who is perhaps the purest of them all. And when she dreams of Ari, she forgets the difference between brothers and _brothers_.

But then she realizes, with a burning irony, that the man standing in front of her is not a figment of her subconscious, but a breathing dark soul who is very much alive.

Then perhaps she was never dreaming.

For a few stretching minutes he just stares, looking down at her marred face with a calculating gleam that she could not see, but feel. She has neither the energy nor the desire to meet his gaze. She keeps her guarded eyes cemented to the floor before her, which has not changed at all in the last twelve hours. Well, 'twelve' being a relative term.

He raises his arm and lifts up her chin with a few calloused fingers. Her subsequent glare lacks any real substance – they've played this game before.

"You do not have much time," he says lowly, his voice taut with finality. She openly scoffs at him and some fire flickers in her eyes.

Oh, did she ever?

"Still you resist me?" he asks amusedly, the corners of his mouth turning slightly into a conceited smirk. He moves his hand softly over the side of her face, like the caress of a gentle lover. Her jaw slackens, but she does not move.

"Why do you do this? Even if you kill me eventually you will fail," she says quickly, anticipating his angered reaction. His hand freezes while cupping her cheek for a moment. She is speaking of more than just his current plan, and he knows it. He drops his hand.

"You know, you people are all the same. Mossad, FBI, your NCIS – you never understand. It is always the same stupid questions. You look at us as if we are petty criminals, as if you are somehow superior to _us_!"

His eyes are murderous, and his hand twitches as if he's going to hit her. Instead, he hastily licks his lips and continues.

"I am trying to find _justice_ in this filthy planet! I bring vengeance for my dead brothers, who were tortured and murdered by your _fucking_ people! And still you walk around, with the arrogant Americans, as if you are innocent. As if somehow _you_ are more deserving than our people. And yet you want to know _why_?"

She doesn't say anything, but holds his gaze with an empty look that reveals nothing. His heavy breathing calms a bit, and he laughs disdainfully at her lack of response to his heated rant.

"And you, why do you care? You are nobody," he spits out venomously, glaring.

She swallows the dryness in her mouth and looks at him with clarity in her hardened brown eyes. She holds the look for a second and lets out a small laugh of her own.

"And you are not?"

One of his eyes twitches almost imperceptibly, and for a second it is just the mutual sound of anticipatory breathing.

Then all the sudden his clenched fist comes out of nowhere and strikes her cheekbone with a sickening force. The unexpected blow throws her head wildly to the side, and she is temporarily blinded. Her vision clouds and she is too stunned to register the side of her body slamming into the concrete.

She realizes too late that his punch has knocked her completely off her chair. After a few seconds of silence she braces herself for the kindness of his boot. But when she hears the subtle click of the blade of a knife being released, she internally freezes.

Suddenly she becomes innately aware of her physical body - the blood pulsing through her veins, the dampness of the sweat running down her back, and the clamminess of her hands bound together. Her heart rate increases and she twists her neck to see him as she feels his muscular arm pushing down on her legs, holding them in place. The silver of the blade glares at her.

His motions are fast, decisive. She doesn't have time to anticipate as he slices the knife through the braided fibers of the rope binding her ankles. He tosses the useless cords to the side and stares her directly in the eyes. He silently refolds the knife and places it back in his pocket, watching her the entire time.

Suddenly she sees the look on his face and knows, instantly, what he is going to do. And despite her previous resignation to the reality of her situation, a new wave of pulsing adrenaline and defiance washes over her and into her. She lashes out with the newfound freedom in her legs and kicks him in the shoulder, causing him to grunt at the unexpectedness of it. It is enough to distract him for just a moment.

Within an instant she is using her legs and feet to push herself away from him.

Her movement is primitive and ungraceful, but she shuffles and pushes until she can no longer ignore the burning pressure in her fractured ribs. She stops moving and closes her eyes briefly, breathing heavily. She is close to the edge of the wall now. He has remained standing in the same spot the entire time, watching her with that same look in his eye.

They both know she has nowhere else to go.

He walks over to her, his steps low and dangerous. His face shows malice and something so primal it is almost complicated. For a second he just hovers over her. His aggression and his rage build up inside him, and he wonders if he has ever felt, actually _felt_, so much power.

His rough hands curl around her waist and he lifts her body easily, the awkward position of his grip preventing her from retaliating. He takes a step away from the wall, dragging her along. He throws her mercilessly onto her stomach and she lets out a low groan at the forceful impact of concrete and bones. Her jarred ribs burn and stab and compress together in a thick haze of pain.

He quickly crouches down and flattens her stomach to the ground, sitting on top her thighs and effectively pinning her in place.

She fights against his hold, but he is far too heavy and one of his hands closes around the back of her neck, forcing the side of her face into the ground and ending her resistant motion. The other hand rips at her waistline and pulls down, leaving her last line of defense lying with the discarded rope on the side.

He doesn't even bother with her shirt.

It is not long before her legs are forced apart and he tears into her. She swallows it down and closes her eyes and tries not to feel. She longs to think of something, _anything_. Just not this. Anything but this. Her struggle is useless and there is more than vice in his grip. Is this what her existence has been reduced to?

Eventually her weakened mind carries her to a different place, a place away from stifling bunkers and vicious men. She only half-registers the thick grunts in her ear or the tears sliding down her cheeks. He is relentless and leaves her nothing.

When he's finished, he moves slowly and without thought, gazing intently at her stilled form. He scowls darkly at her silent trembling and spits directly on her face, letting out a mocking laugh. He turns away, heading back towards the stairs and the light of the dawn.

He leaves Ziva David crying and bleeding in a room that reeks of shame.

* * *

On the fifth day, he knows _exactly_ what he is feeling.

And actually, it can hardly be called a feeling. It's more of a…presence. It fogs his mind and swirls through his muddled brain, spinning and filtering. It creeps down his skin and through his veins and right into his fingers. He sees it on the walls and hears it through the door and grasps it in his hand. It's like a cloud. It hovers, it moves, and it's positively out of reach.

It is nothing.

Anthony DiNozzo has ceased to feel. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, he doesn't know. But does it really matter? _Really_? He just does not care. And why should he? Why should _he_ give a fuck anymore?

Things probably would have been easier if he'd gone insane already. He lets out a small laugh to himself, trying to imagine his own hallucinations. Admittedly, a conversation with himself would be more entertaining than…this. But then he figures that pretending to hallucinate to pass time is just as crazy as actually hallucinating. What the hell.

Speaking of sanity, there are noises coming from outside the room, and he thinks they sound legitimate.

He is powerless to stop his reaction. His heart rate quickens, his eyes shoot to the door, and instinctively he feels the gravelly dryness in his mouth and the just plain emptiness of his stomach. Those are definitely footsteps, multiple pairs, and they are definitely getting closer. He hears the lock adjusting and the heavy door is pushed open with a metallic creak.

He stares in shocked silence at what he sees.

Three people emerge through the doorway, two with schooled expressions and baleful eyes. Their motions are careless and they have no reason to think twice about what they're doing. One looks young, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. One looks only a few years older than that. The one in the middle, the one who has each arm draped over one of their shoulders and whose feet are being dragged behind, looks like she is half-dead.

Her nose, mouth, and chin are caked with dried blood, whose crimson streaks trail all the way down her neck and disappear beneath her shirt. There is a small cut on her left lower lip and dark blue bruising surrounding the cheekbone and under-eye of the same side. On the other side there is an inflamed cut surrounded by yellow bruising from her encounter with the rifle butt several days earlier. Her eyes are closed and she looks as if she is barely conscious, her head hanging forward as they move further into the room.

They release her and she falls to the ground with an ungraceful thud, her tired arms too weak to try and brace herself for the landing. Her eyes are still closed and she doesn't move at all, even after painfully colliding with the concrete. _His_ weary eyes are fixed on her motionless body and he does not flinch when the door slams shut again.

"Ziva," he whispers throatily, his voice deep and coarse from underuse.

No response.

"Ziva," he tries again, a little louder. He pushes himself off the wall and moves down on all fours, ignoring the squeezing pressure in his leg as the blood rushes to his thigh. The concrete is cold on his palms as he crawls over to his partner, who still isn't responding.

She is sprawled on her stomach, and he gently takes her shoulders and half-lifts her so that he is supporting her arms and torso and her legs are still lying on the floor, bent at an odd angle. They are facing each other now, his arms gripping her shoulders tightly so that she doesn't fall over.

A low wheezing noise escapes her when he pries her from the floor and her eyes flicker open, brown irises coming into contact with green. Her eyes widen a fraction.

"Tony?" she whispers, bringing her right hand up to his cheek as if checking to make sure he's real. Her breathing is deep and her face is marked by disbelief. "I thought, I thought they……" she trails off, unable to finish the sentence, her voice thick with emotion.

He just shakes his head numbly, completely at a loss for words. He can't seem to get past the dryness in his mouth or the thickness of his tongue. Her eyes are still looking desperately into his and he feels his throat constrict. She opens her mouth to speak again.

"Tony,"

He nods slightly and keeps his gaze fixed solely on her.

"I do not think Gibbs is coming," she whispers, her voice so low that he has to hold his breath to hear her. Tears glide down her face and her breathing becomes a little more erratic. He feels her muscles tense as her lip starts to quiver.

The truth in her soft brown eyes is so raw and beautifully honest that he can't stop himself as he feels moisture on his own cheeks. He swallows his pain back down and feels a pressing weight on his chest.

"I know," he whispers back, the salty water from his eyes running over his chapped and parted lips.

He feels her shoulders start to shake and she closes her eyes, the tears falling freely down her face as she hangs her head. He releases his hold on her arms and pulls her body into his, one arm wrapping around her back and the other cradling her head as she sobs into his shoulder.

It is only now that he sees the deep bruising around the back of her neck and shoulder blades, and he forgets that DiNozzos are not supposed to cry.

He knows, now, that he loves her. His heart feels like it has been split open with the sheer relief of finding her alive and having her breathing, feeling, right in front of him. His chest swells and his throat constricts and he knows the end is near, but this is so real that he is _crying_ for it. He may not be _in love_ with her, but oh, he absolutely knows that it is love all the same.

They sit, together, holding each other. Tears fall and bleeding hearts spill and nothing is said. They just sob into each other, clinging together as if they are children, lost without their parents. He knows that essentially, that's true, and so he cries for it.

Together, they cry for their fate. They cry for the people who will find their bodies, and they cry for the people who will be forced to do their jobs as two of their colleagues lay cold on the metal slabs. They cry for devastated and inconsolable, and for the torn apart. They cry for the silent and stoic, who will be left only with empty silence.

He cried for the life that he could have had. All the things he will never see or feel.

She cried because somewhere in her heart, she knew.

_We are all alone_.

It had been just something she said, something that helped her to believe. Words that offered explanation for her loss, that helped her understand. Now, it's different.

She cried because she knew, she _knew_.

_We are all alone_.

* * *

_Aaand thank you for reading! Reviews welcome :)_


	16. Eternal

**Disclaimer**: NCIS, as well items associated with it, are simply not mine. Enjoy the read, friends.

* * *

Inhale.

Silence. A sort of peaceful calm floats above and flows into his veins. He cannot remember the last time it was this quiet. He half-expects to hear a clock ticking, but there is just the sound of breathing.

Exhale.

Every time he hears it, he is relieved. He doesn't want to admit that his partner is dying, but his heart cannot ignore the possibility that soon, very soon, he might not be able to hear her at all. His chest clenches and unclenches with every rise and fall of her weakened body. It is exhausting and relaxing the same time, this resigned waiting.

Inhale.

Her head is resting on his lap and her body is curled half-beside him, half-on-top of him. Instinctively his hands are wrapped around her upper torso, linked together in protection and desperation. As partners the two were never intimate, but he thinks nothing of it, platonic or not. They just need each other – they have nothing else.

Exhale.

It sounds labored and like something is clawing at the inside of her chest, but she's still breathing. He can't bring himself to force her to stay awake, because he knows (oh, how he knows) that it's only a matter of time anyway. Small mercies.

Inhale.

This time he feels her muscles tense and instead of exhaling she explodes into a nasty hacking cough, her lungs and mouth burning with dryness and pressure. Her body convulses and she heaves, but there is nothing left to come up. A few seconds of anticipatory silence passes as she tries to calm her lungs and ease the taut muscles in her core.

She clears her throat and shifts her body to look up at him, her eyes weary with exhaustion.

"Is there no more water?" she asks quietly, her voice thin and hoarse.

At the child-like look of sheer need and veiled pain written on her face, his heart sinks and almost breaks and he finds that he only has the strength to shake his head. She swallows heavily and shifts again so that she is facing the other wall, her face hidden from him.

Exhale.

He reasons that he is probably dying now too. He closes his eyes, leans his head back against the wall, and goes back to idle listening.

He figures it's been what, six days? Seven maybe? He's certainly had some bad weeks before, but this has undoubtedly been the worst week of his life. And, ironically, he doesn't even have much life left. He is actually surprised he has enough energy to bother counting the days. Every hour that passes something inside him feels colder and colder, but the sticky heat of their cramped room hasn't lifted, not even for a second.

Inhale.

Somewhere between Ziva being thrown back at him and night falling, he has stopped thinking about home.

Exhale.

Outside the friendly steel door, he hears voices. Muffled, indiscernible, and not something he would bother to try and understand anyway. Still, they are voices, and he cannot help but feel some anxiety at their proximity. He glances down at his partner to see if she hears them too, but she makes no reaction and her eyes are still heavy with sleep.

The voice level raises a little and he gently moves her to the floor, pulling his legs out from underneath her stilled form. She doesn't respond.

His head spins and squeezes at the sudden change of position, and he has to use the wall to steady himself as the pulsing and stinging ache in his leg returns with a fresh burn. He closes his eyes and waits for the feeling to pass, biting his lip to prevent himself from making any noise. The sounds are getting closer now, and as his heart rate involuntarily increases he realizes that it makes no difference whether he is sitting or standing – he still has nothing to fight with. No way of protecting them.

Instinctively, he glances around his surroundings, his penetrating eyes passing over Ziva (still out of it) and landing on the dumb crates in the corner that did nothing but collect dust and take up space. But Tony has been isolated and hurting for too long to realize their lack of efficacy. He limps over to the corner they lay in and picks one up, surprised at how much energy it took to lift something so simple.

He grips it as firmly as he can and braces himself as he hears the door being pushed open quietly. Deep in his bones he has given up on a lot of things, but he will not give up on _them_, not yet. The black lead of a gun barrel appears around the corner, and he takes a step forward, wooden crate raised, fist and heart closed.

When the opening of the door reveals its shadowy guest, Tony stops in his tracks and reaches for the stability of the wall, his heart racing as the crate clatters to the ground and he finds it difficult to breathe.

What the _fuck_?

"Boss?" he asks, his voice cracking in utter disbelief and the inability to comprehend. That is not…it's not. No. No, no. No, seriously, what in the fuck?

Immediately Gibbs's hand is on his shoulder, commanding with his strong presence (the firmness of his grip _must_ be real, right?) that he calm down. Inhale. Exhale. He checks Tony over and almost laughs, the relief from the tension close to palpable.

"DiNozzo, what were you gonna do with a box?"

Tony opens his mouth to say something, but his mind is completely blank and still reeling silently, so he just closes it again, still trying to catch his breath. The corners of his mouth turn a little as he shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't know, I thought…" he trails off, suddenly feeling blindsided and out of place. _We were dead_. No.

"Hey," starts Gibbs, his voice softer than before. "You're gonna be fine."

He just nods and looks at his boss, not realizing that the hand is gone from his shoulder. Gibbs holds the gaze for a short moment before turning away again.

"McGee, Tobias! Take him outside to the medics, he's shivering."

Tony bites back the joke he has about Egyptian winters and is secretly thrilled to be relieved of the burden of supporting all of his weight on one good leg. He smiles half-heartedly at the two friendly faces that he drapes his arms around and listens to the light flow of McGee's voice, unable to truly hear what he is saying. He is content to let the two practically drag him out of there, his own mind focused on not letting his emotions wash over him.

When he is sure that DiNozzo is going to make it, Gibbs turns to the darkness of the room for his next problem, the one that had his heart pumping and his feet moving of their own accord, determined and frenetic. Fear and need.

He finds her curled on the filthy ground, face bruised, marked by soiled brown and crimson.

He crouches down and runs a gentle hand over her head, lifting it slightly. Her eyes crack open and she makes a soft noise, somewhere between a cry and a wheeze. His outline is blurred and she lifts her head to see him better, her tired mind working overdrive. Instinctively her hand seeks his reality, and in a second her palm is connected with his, his warm grip assuring her.

He is not so sure what he was expecting, but this, this was _not_ it. Her simple vulnerability and clear pain simultaneously put fire in his veins and turned his gut.

"Come on, Ziver," he whispers, and her hand relaxes. She feels her eyes start to slide closed again, the edges of her vision swirling and compressing.

He lifts her up, head clinging to his chest and arm hanging, and carries her away.

_Stay with me_.

She feels something cool and wet on her face, and then she doesn't remember anything.

_Stay with me_.

* * *

Whether it's Washington or Cairo, hospital coffee always tasted like shit.

At least at Al Salam International Hospital, they gave it to you for free, unlike the cheap blends sold at Bethesda. So, he guesses, that was one thing these guys had on the Americans. Gibbs hoped they were equally generous when it came to family relations and news delivery. News delivery…that's why he needed coffee in the first place.

He'd spent seven days searching for his missing agents. Seven days. Hours and hours upon frustration, dead ends, and far too much wasted time.

He had broken many suspects and caught many criminals and solved many cases, but it never took this long. And _this_ case was as personal as it gets. He'd sweated and punched and shouted for this case, even after he began dreading that they were already dead. _Seven_ days. And the sleepless nights weren't any easier.

And oh, he felt guilty, sure. He practically dragged them overseas into this mess, and it took him a whole damn week to drag them out of it. His best just wasn't good enough. But this, this was so much more than guilt. This was just _wrong_.

It was like there was an anomaly somewhere, an error. This wasn't supposed to happen; they'd already dealt with enough shit. Guilt was part of it, but there was also a certain air of doubt and vulnerability that crept up into his veins as well. This was wrong.

And when he found them…they were a mess. Tony almost broke down when he saw his boss in front of him, and Gibbs can't even begin to think what must've been going through his head. He'd looked lost, frightened. Too disconcerted to be completely attributed to the pain and hunger.

And Ziva…Ziva had been close to death. His stomach clenches and he doesn't want to think.

Seven days.

"Never thought I'd say this Jethro, but I think I understand your taste in coffee now," came the voice of Fornell, entering through the door on the right of the hallway and taking a seat next to Gibbs. From the looks of it (eyes a little bloodshot and suit hanging a little loose), he has been working all night.

Gibbs just smirked as Fornell tossed his wasted cup in the trash as he approached.

"Any word?" asked Fornell, breaking the pensive silence. Gibbs never asked what he was doing here – he knew Tobias was almost as invested in this as he was.

He sighed a little and glanced down at his own cup, searching for the right response. Not too emotional, but revealing in its own way.

"Nothing significant. Both critical at the moment."

"DiNozzo too?" asked Fornell curiously, apparently surprised. Sure he was limping and sweating, and he was quieter than usual, but Fornell figured with some fluids he would be pretty stable. But if DiNozzo took after Gibbs as much as people said he did, then he was in a lot more pain than he was letting on.

"Leg's infected, dehydrated. He'll bounce back."

"Physically or mentally?" asked Fornell, his eyes keen on his colleague seated next to him, who laughed lightly and raised his eyebrows.

"You only worrying _now_ about his mental health?"

Fornell let out a small laugh of his own, shaking his head. He did have a point.

A few seconds of patient silence passed, neither person saying anything. They weren't tense, exactly, but there was a certain quality of expectation that permeated the air between them.

"David took quite a hit," said Fornell after a minute, his tone implying that the topic needed some elaboration. He knew the woman's background and training, and if _this_ can happen to someone like that, then…

"Yeah, she did," replied Gibbs, his eyes open but unfocused on the present.

"That's it? Last time this happened you didn't stop until the man responsible was six feet under."

Gibbs turned to face him now, his eyebrows raised both in affirmation and confrontation. He wondered what Fornell would say if he knew that the person actually responsible for "last time" was laying in a hospital bed, bleeding and alone.

"I already put holes in their chests, Tobias. What more do you want?"

Fornell shifted in his seat a little, taking off his glasses and speaking to the man next to him in low, earnest tones.

"Some of the pieces don't add up Gibbs. Like how they knew you left the States, or how they managed to capture your agents so quickly. Hell, we don't even know what those two were doing in Egypt to begin with!"

"We won't know until they're ready to talk."

"This isn't over, Jethro," he replied, speaking in a way that sounded like he absolutely meant it. He wished he didn't.

"Never said it was. You talk to Vance?" asked Gibbs, changing the subject both by choice and necessity. Fornell nodded and proceeded to fill him in, comfortable with his friend's no-nonsense approach towards the whole matter.

"I have McGee checking local security cameras and phone records, but your director says Mossad is officially taking over the responsibilities. Vance says Director David hasn't been out of his office in two days."

Gibbs nodded acceptably, but didn't say anything. Somehow he doubted that it would be long before David showed up here, whether for personal or professional reasons.

"That it?" he asked, turning towards his FBI-friend once again.

"One more thing. PFC Jason Walker, the Marine who tried to assassinate David on a highway, is under surveillance by another team. But they won't take him down just yet. Says they've been instructed to wait for more…"indulgent circumstances". That mean anything to you?"

Gibbs stood up, his smirk gone and his stoic and determined expression back in place. He forcefully threw his cup of coffee, now cold, into the trash as he rose from his chair.

"Yeah, it means I can arrest the punk myself."

"Where are you going?" asked Fornell, surprised at his friend's sudden departure. He rose from his chair himself, not wanting to wait alone for an update he wasn't authorized to receive. And it wasn't really his place anyway.

"To get some real coffee," he replied, offering no other explanation. As if he needed one. Fornell reluctantly followed him out the door, falling into stride with the focused ex-Marine as he went.

Oh no, this was far from over. Gibbs guessed he wouldn't be sleeping tonight either.

* * *

_I would love it if your kind soul would review! Tusen takk!_


	17. Silhouettes

**Disclaimer:** I feel like an idiot saying this, but NCIS is so very clearly not mine. _Enjoy queriditas_!

* * *

The first time she wakes up, everything is out of place.

She tries to move her way through a seemingly impenetrable fog of light and dark, but it blurs and something holds her back down. She has no real physical awareness – not yet. The air is warm and thick and she is not capable of forming thoughts. Eyes open. Eyes shut. She blinks, unaware that she's even doing it. Still not there.

Until a hand latches on to her forearm, and immediately the muddled density fades and all of the sudden she is burning. Not literally, but vulnerability and uncertainty and a newfound pain rise up and she feels the warmth so intensely on her skin. She blinks again, trying to bring him into focus.

"Ziva."

The word is sharp, concise, and has a power of its own.

Her head snaps towards his voice, out of the thick of her mind, into his steely blue eyes. But these eyes, these are not steel. There is something soft behind them, and for a second she tries to pull her arm free of his grip, unsure of everything. Unsure of what she's really seeing. He disregards her reaction and keeps his hand steady, unwavering.

"Calm down, you're in a hospital."

Her tired mind does not fully comprehend what he's saying and it is only the tone of his voice and the warmth of his hand that soothes her. She relaxes her arm and nods dully at the man standing next to her, taking a second to look away from his gaze.

She recognizes all the makings of a hospital room, and of her current position, but she just doesn't put the pieces together. It is still so warm here…

"Do you remember what happened?" asks Gibbs, his voice somewhat withholding, reluctant. Tense silence stretches and he searches her bruised face for recognition, but he finds none.

And then just like that, it all changes.

Her heart monitor increases and she finds herself struggling to think as she is hit with a swirl of words and images flooding the heart of her memory. She remembers everything, yes, but it happens so quickly and so truly in that instant that it's almost non-sequential, uncontrollable. All of the sudden she can't breathe and his grip tightens.

_A shattered window, a wrecked car. Tali's brown eyes, cold and dead. An explosion. Bodies on the ground, screaming. A dark room. A darker man with eyes and hands that hate. Tony. _

Her mind is torn between here and there, then and now. Just a flash, but it leaves her winded and sweating. The only thing that brings her out of it is the pain in her stomach and the rising nausea. Gibbs sees her sudden stop in motion, the look in her eye, and knows.

He reaches for the trash can and brings it forward, the only thing between them a settled silence. She just turns over and vomits, unable to look at him when she's done.

By this point the nurse has seen enough, moving from her previous position by the door (oh how the meaningful stare of Gibbs can paralyze) and coming to the side of her patient. She kindly yet firmly pushes Gibbs towards the door, giving him a look of her own. He complies but keeps his eyes fixed on Ziva, who has yet to realize he isn't there.

She tries to breathe and only notices the lack of warmth on her forearm after he is gone from the room. Instinctively she searches for him but it slips away from her as she is quickly lulled into sleep and feels only a blissful nothingness.

Outside, he sits in a lonely chair and wonders how the hell this happened.

* * *

The second time she wakes up, she is completely alone.

It does not take so long for her to recognize her surroundings, but long enough that for a split second she mistakes the darkness of the night sky for the darkness of somewhere else, seemingly far away but still so close to her heart. She closes her eyes and reopens them again, shaking the thought away.

When she tries to reach for the glass of water on the bedside table, everything backfires. Just the simple act of moving her arm takes incredible effort, as her muscles feel weak and thick as lead. As she uses her one good, unbandaged arm to push herself up slightly, her chest burns and stabs and she collapses back down, unexpected spasms of hot pain running all down her side.

Her fist clenches and her jaw stiffens, but she makes no noise. The back of her neck is damp with sweat.

When she tries to reach over to the table a second time, it is not the pain that stops her. For a moment her mind goes blank and she feels like something has punched her in the gut. Lying on the table's surface is a small black booklet, no bigger than a wallet. A silver Star of David necklace rests on top of that, its delicate chain strewn casually over the thin leather.

There is no explanation given with the items, and she needs none. She fingers the booklet tentatively in her warm hands, her eyes flickering over a face and name that haunt her nights. This time, she feels no rage when she studies the beautiful face of her beloved Tali, but only a gaping void that aches of tired emptiness. The salty tears sting as they fall, but she remains silent as the lost soul of her sister threatens to choke her.

She clutches the booklet close to her body and cries herself to sleep.

* * *

"Anything new?" asked Special Agent Fornell, shutting the door to his hotel room almost silently before approaching the far side of the room, where McGee was hunched over a well-lit desk, poring through files and reports.

At the sound of the unexpected voice, he jumped a little at the sudden break in concentration.

"God no wonder you and Gibbs are friends," he muttered, turning his attention back to the array of paperwork scattered around his workspace. His laptop lay open to his right, bearing the look of a piece of equipment that had been used very frequently.

"Sorry. Old habit," replied Fornell, smirking at the younger agent's discomfort. "So, you find anything yet?" he tried again, referring to the ongoing investigation of the international mess Tony and Ziva had been caught in.

McGee sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking entirely frustrated.

"Nothing. I've searched through witness statements, phone logs, security footage…I mean we know the _who_, but we don't know _how_ they did it."

Fornell leaned against the side of the desk, half-sitting, half-standing. He looked intently down at the cluttered desk below him for a minute, then back to McGee.

"Okay. Take me back to the beginning. Run me through everything we know."

McGee nodded as he began shuffling through the pile, setting things aside and pulling out things that were hiding underneath. He took a breath and began to speak, his voice full of focus.

"Ten days ago I was in the middle of tracking Tony and Ziva's cell phones when out of nowhere we lost their signals. Based off the footage from a security camera of a local shop, this occurred at the same exact time that part of a CIA convoy exploded in the middle of a downtown street. And according to this witness statement," continued McGee, pulling out an official-looking piece of paper out of a manila folder, "two people matching Tony and Ziva's description were at the scene, and the witness believes they were injured – he says he almost tripped over them. Gibbs thinks that's when they were captured," he finished lowly, not really wanting to think about _that_.

Fornell studied the statement for a minute and then spoke again, his voice questioning.

"Why there, why that street? How do you know they weren't forced to leave the safe-house in Tel Aviv?"

"No signs of forced entry, no suspicious calls to either of their phones, and the surveillance detail didn't report any disturbances. And the only thing the neighbors noticed was that their Jeep was missing."

"You think that's related to the case?" asked Fornell, who already had a hunch as to the answer. Much like his friend, he didn't believe in coincidences.

"Tony and Ziva would've needed a car to get to Cairo, assuming they knew they would probably be stopped at an airport. And all the evidence says they weren't forced – we just haven't figured out why they left yet."

"Have you tried asking them?" asked Fornell, a little humor in his voice at the obviousness of the situation.

"Can't. Last time I was updated, Ziva was in and out of consciousness and apparently DiNozzo ditched his room. Gibbs is trying to find him."

"Okay, so until they can talk, are there any other leads?"

"Just one. The day before the explosion Ziva placed a call to the home of a Kadin Al-Bashandi, a logistics officer who works for the CIA. The only thing he could tell us is that she was asking about her sister and he hadn't heard from her in months before that."

"What's this guy got to do with her sister?"

"That's what doesn't make any sense. Her sister has been dead for eight years! I mean I know that Ziva was friends with this guy, but why would she just up and leave her safe-house without telling anybody to look for her dead sister in the middle of a different country?"

"Maybe her sister wasn't really dead."

"Even so, it still doesn't make any sense. Why now? Why the CIA?"

Apparently Fornell didn't have an answer, because he just sat there in silence, studying the desk with pensive concentration. A few minutes later he spoke again, new determination in his voice.

"Let's read through Al-Bashandi's statement again, see if we can make a connection."

McGee sighed, but agreed. He leafed through a few sheets of paper before finding what he was looking for and adjusting the lamp so that it was directly shining down on the print.

"Gibbs and I went to his house to speak with him about the phone call. We told him how we were looking for Ziva, and he explained that they had been friends since childhood. He even had an old picture of the two of them. When we asked about the call, he told us that she called one day asking about the whereabouts of her sister, whom she believed to be still alive. Apparently he told her the last he had seen of Tali David was at her funeral eight years ago."

"So this Kadin, who happens to work for the CIA, gets a call from an old friend about something he claims to know nothing about. Something tells me David wasn't the only one keeping secrets. He say anything else?"

"No, nothing. Just that he wished us luck in finding our agents."

"This isn't adding up. You're sure he was telling the truth?" asked Fornell, suspicion etched into his voice. He was highly distrustful of that particular sister agency.

"He wouldn't have a reason to lie unless………wait a second," started McGee, his eyes burning with realization.

"What? What is it?" asked Fornell, unsure of what his colleague had just become aware of. He peered over the young man's shoulder, as if that would give the answer away.

"When we went to Kadin's house we were talking about Ziva's phone call – we never said anything about DiNozzo. But when we left he wished us luck in finding our 'agents'…how could he have known that we were looking for them _both_ unless h—"

"Unless he knew they were together," Fornell finished for him, the implications of McGee's theory starting to form in his mind.

"He must've made contact with them at some point and lied about it when we questioned him!" said McGee, his voice rising with sudden understanding.

"The only reason he would do that is if he was hiding something," replied Fornell.

"What could he possibly be hiding that's so important?"

"His involvement, McGee. Maybe he works for someone else besides the CIA."

"What, you think he was Hamas?"

"It would explain how Hamas knew to find DiNozzo and David in Cairo, and how they got captured. One day Ziva calls this man, next day, only four miles away from his house, she and DiNozzo disappear from a CIA convoy."

"Alright let me pull up his history, see if there's anything suspicious."

McGee pushed the pile of papers to the side and quickly pulled his laptop closer, fingers flying over the keys as he gained clearance to the classified material using the code given to him by Gibbs (McGee didn't ask how he got it). His eyes were narrowed in focus and anticipation.

"Kadin Al-Bashandi, born 1978 in Tel Aviv, Israel. His mother was a radiologist who moved to Israel from Egypt, which would explain his name, to marry his father, who was Jewish. His father worked for Mossad as a Metsada operative under the command of…Eli David. He spent his childhood in the same neighborhood as Ziva until he moved to the United States in 2000 after his father was killed. He landed a job working with the CIA seven months later and by October 2001 he was stationed in Cairo as a logistics officer for various operatives. Given his background and connections, he was highly recommended for his job. That's the end of his file."

"So I guess that explains his connection to David. It would also explain his connection to Hamas - he lived in Israel for twenty-two years and his mother was Muslim," added Fornell, drawing conclusions in his head.

"But his bank statements show no indications that he was doing anything off the books. If he _was_ Hamas, you'd think the CIA would have found out."

"Sometimes they slip through the cracks. Remember Haswari?"

McGee nodded slowly, but didn't say anything. Of course he remembers Ari. In fact, if Kadin grew up with Ziva, it's possible that the two men knew each other. And wouldn't that be ironic…

"This whole time we were only looking through Tony and Ziva's phone records. We never thought to check Al-Bashandi's," said McGee, hoping for any sort of discontinuity that would uncover the truth about this. "Just give me a minute."

The mouse clicked, passwords were entered, and after a whole fourteen minutes of incessant typing and Fornell waiting impatiently, three lines were highlighted on the screen, showing calls between Kadin's landline and another unknown number.

Fornell leaned closer to get a better look.

"This is the only number that doesn't check out. On the same day that Ziva called Kadin, he received a call from this number. He called that same number back twice the next day – once early in the morning and once exactly twelve minutes before the explosion."

"You trace it?"

"The number belongs to a payphone just at the edge of the city. Less than a mile away from where Tony and Ziva were held."

"Son of a bitch. He must've sold them out!" yelled Fornell, getting up off his seat and looking for his jacket.

"No wonder he lied to us – he was in on the entire thing!" said McGee, still reeling from the weight of the new realization and the fact that he missed it.

"You get the car ready, I'll call Gibbs. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear this," said Fornell sarcastically, flipping open his cell phone and eyeing it darkly. The NCIS agent nodded and grabbed his own coat.

"I think we just found our 'how' McGee."

* * *

_A nice little review always brightens the day! Thanks for reading!_


	18. Iris

**Disclaimer: **As much as I love redundancies, NCIS or related are not mine. Thanks and awelki.

_P.S. My aunt and I might go to Puerto Rico over spring break! Umm, how awesome is that! Sorry about that interjection, just keep reading if you so desire :)_

* * *

When Gibbs finally found him, he couldn't exactly say he was surprised.

Back in the day, he would have ditched his room, too. And he'd heard it from enough people that DiNozzo was plenty enough like him. But looking at his agent now, he wasn't so sure that was a good thing.

Tony was sitting alone outside the door to Ziva's room, his green eyes unfocused and shadowed, hiding. His blue hospital gown fit loosely behind his shoulders, flowing down to his legs and only partially covering his heavily bandaged right thigh. Gibbs was about to ask how he managed to get here until he saw the metal crutches laying underneath his chair. His hair was messy and his face was gruff with stubble that he hadn't bothered shaving off.

Truthfully, he looked a little lost.

"Forget where the head is, DiNozzo?" came Gibbs's voice, floating through the stiff air and into Tony's headspace. Tony didn't acknowledge or seem the least bit surprised that his boss had found him. He just kept staring idly at the door.

"When I came to see her this morning, I ran into her nurse. Told me Ziva was sleeping, but if I wanted to stay, it could be our little secret. Hey at least I know the DiNozzo charm still works," added Tony, his voice tight with forced humor and his green eyes blazing.

"Tony," began Gibbs, his voice soft with understanding. "What are you doing here?"

"Nurses tell you everything?" Tony suddenly asked, his head turning towards his boss for the first time with a confrontational spark in his eye. Gibbs stared at him for a moment, wondering just who his underlying anger was directed at, then sighed.

"I read the report, yeah."

Tony let out a harsh breath and smiled sarcastically, nodding his head.

"Of course you did."

He sat in a huddle of poorly-concealed frustration for a few seconds before continuing.

"I mean, I was there, right? I already knew about everything, I was there, I fucking saw her. But when they told me…" he broke off, swallowing back down the emotion and uncertainty in his throat. "They told me other things…"

Gibbs shifted his stance a little, his previously softened face stiffening into a frown as he remembered the wounded confusion in her eyes when he found her, dying from more than just physical pain.

"I was supposed to protect her," he all but whispered, traces of self-loathing laced into his words.

And now, days after he lifted her off that floor, Gibbs was looking down at a man he considered family whose heart was bleeding onto _this_ floor for that very reason. He took a seat next to DiNozzo and lowered his voice into a steady and calm rhythm.

"What happened out there?"

"Long story, Boss," he replied quickly, hoping that for once Gibbs would be fooled. His trademark stare said otherwise. "Guess you wouldn't be sitting there if you cared about that," he added, sending a quick smirk towards his mentor, who returned the favor knowingly.

"Whenever you're ready," said Gibbs smoothly. Tony sighed heavily before beginning, casting an affirmative nod towards Gibbs.

"The night after I came back from the _Seahawk_, we went out for drinks. You know, to catch up and do the whole 'reuniting with the team' thing. Then she tells me that good old daddy dearest had been keeping secrets from her, but I mean, what do you expect from the head of Mossad? It's not the like the guy got th—"

"DiNozzo…"

"Right, sorry. Apparently he told her that eight years ago he faked her sister's death in an explosion because some idiot threatened to kill his family. And guess what? Little David was alive and kicking in Egypt all these years. She even ended up working for the CIA – I guess the ninja tendencies run in the family," he finished, smirking at his little joke. But there was very little humor in his eyes, and the smile was a little too forced to be believable.

"You left the safe-house in Israel. Why?"

"Ziva had to see her. She thought her sister was dead for all those years and then her father wouldn't let her go near her. I thought if I just went with her, we could be back within a day and no one would know."

"So what happened?"

"When we got to the house of Tali's control officer, Kadin I think his name was, everything changed. Her sister was missing – had been for three weeks. The last anybody heard from her she was undercover. When they tried to find her, they were attacked. They stopped looking after that."

"And Ziva?"

"She left in the middle of the night to find her. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't let me. Guess you know how she is. Anyway, she didn't come back for almost an entire day. And when she did, she had blood all over her clothes. And no Tali. Even McGee could've put the pieces together."

Gibbs froze internally for a second, the sudden familiar pain of losing someone piercing his heart for a second, quickly replaced by a sort of blank numbness. He ached for the person in the room who so clearly shared his pain.

"So her sister _is_ dead."

Tony looked for a second like he was angry, hot air rushing out his nostrils and his eyes flashing, but it passed as quickly as it came.

"You didn't see the look on her face that day," he said lowly, his tone that of a person who knows that there are no real words to describe something. Gibbs didn't argue, but he didn't really acknowledge either. He didn't need any reminders about how he wasn't there.

"Then what?" he asked, drawing his agent back to the objective, away from things he couldn't explain.

"Then Kadin was telling us there were terrorists hunting us and there was an explosion and all the sudden I find myself locked in a cell with nowhere to go. Not my best week, Gibbs."

"Tony…"

"I should never have agreed to leave Tel Aviv. We should've stayed."

"DiNozzo…"

"I actually thought we could get away with it. Partners, right?"

"Tony!"

He snapped his attention towards his boss, green eyes blazing and his face contorted with determined anger, refusing to give up just yet.

"I was supposed to protect her and I let this happen. Don't try to tell me you would feel any different," he snapped, turning his head away again and back towards the door. Gibbs's eyes were turned on him, blue and shining and resilient.

"I should have gotten you out earlier, I know that. And nothing I say is gonna stop you from blaming yourself. But that doesn't take away the actions of the _people responsible_."

Tony turned his head curiously, eyes narrowed and breath hesitant.

"I saw their bodies. I wanted to kill them myself, but you…" he suddenly cut off, his eyes turned sharply on Gibbs but frozen in dark realization. "Something tells me that's not what you came here to tell me."

"Someone sold you out," Gibbs deadpanned, not even bothering with the verbal foreplay.

"What?"

Seconds pass. A tense silence fills the space between them and he can practically hear his heart beating faster each anticipatory moment that passes.

"Boss that's not even… who?" he manages to get out, unable to articulate what is truly running through his head.

"How close did you get with Kadin?"

Tony fell silent, his eyes narrowing into a glare instinctively and his shoulders stiffening into a defensive position. He dropped his voice a little bit and leaned a little closer.

"I should have known," he spit out, his chest rising quickly and his fists clenching together. Oh how he wanted to hit something, to _hit_ something. He should've fucking known not to trust him. The guy had welcomed Tony and Ziva into his house and acted like a friend and yet all the sudden they find themselves captive in a desert with vicious men. Perfect.

He fell for it and this is what happened.

"Let me know when you find him," he said tightly, his words strong and eyes burning with earnest. He glanced from the door back to his boss, then back to his hands, clasped together with disgust and desperation flowing through his veins and turning his knuckles white.

Because through the haze of diagnosis and opinions and predictions, not much gets through to him.

Her nurse rattled off medical words and things he doesn't understand or even bother to – he doesn't need to. But some things he can't ignore, not when it springs up on you and makes you sweat and reach for the nearest trash can. Not when you feel responsible. Not when he sat there, starving, crying, watching life leave her. Through everything, he heard only one thing: sexual trauma.

And he thinks he understands hate now.

* * *

At nights, they find solace only in each other.

The first few days were mostly a blur to her, with beeping machines and guilt-ridden visitors that say very little and the warmth of the cotton home she had found herself in. It is easy to forget in the daylight, when the glistening sun makes golden flecks stream through the windows and when the kind words of nurses encourage her to keep going, be strong, fight everything.

But when darkness comes, it is not so easy.

When night falls and she is left with nothing but herself, she does not want to fight. It is mostly the dreams and the gaping pain that bother her. Sometimes they are happy, in a way. Old times when she was younger and Tali was just a child and they would laugh together at things that only made sense to them. Other times the images were angry and violent and she would see dead bodies, vacant eyes, and a filthy man on top of her.

Either way, she wakes with dark circles under her eyes that fade nicely into the bruising and dampness on her neck and back. Silently, the nurses wonder why someone who was starved for seven days does not want to eat.

For him, he simply can't sleep.

Even with the pain medication and the antibiotics working through his system, his mind refused to slow down. He would lay there, alone in his bed, helpless to stop his thoughts from taking over. He tried to stop, to shut them out, but he couldn't ignore them. Thoughts about what happened, over and over, soon replaced by things that came so very close to happening. Most of the time, he just felt _so_ angry. And one thing Anthony DiNozzo had learned about himself is that he could not sleep when he was angry. It wasn't complicated really, but it was true.

That's when he started sneaking out.

It didn't work the first time, considering the nurses did, in fact, have medical training and figured it out within minutes. But when they saw that he hadn't been sleeping, and what he was trying to do, they allowed carefully-monitored visits. Her room was only a few doors down anyways. So technically then it wasn't sneaking out, but it worked for him.

The first night he visited she was still so reliant on the medication that she slept through both his arrival and his departure. He just sat there in his wheelchair idly, secretly hoping she would pull a knife while chastising him for giving her the _jeebie-heebies_, as she called them. He wonders why he considers it a bad thing that she doesn't.

He spent the rest of his allotted time watching her sleep, aware that what he is doing is both entirely soothing and entirely creepy. He does not care. Somehow, after everything, he doesn't think she would either.

The second night he didn't see her at all, as she spent the entire time in the bathroom. Her nurse told him that apparently this was routine after meals and he would just have to wait it out. He wasted no time in returning to his room and punching the closest wall. He ignores the looks of pity the nurse shoots him as she bandages his hand.

On this night, he finds her neither in her bed nor in the bathroom. Instead, she is sitting alone in one of the chairs next to her bed, her back to the window and the wall. The streaks of moonlight seemed to illuminate her figure, partially shadowing the empty look in her eye.

Her face holds no recognition as he approaches somewhat clumsily with his crutches. Neither even bother to fake a smile.

"I uh, hope I didn't wake you," he starts out, his tone low but light. He doesn't really need to say anything, as he is comfortable just sitting in her presence, but he figures he should. She bows her head and glances at her hands, fidgeting ever so slightly.

"I do not sleep well anymore," she replies slowly, her voice deep and taut with shameful sincerity. She doesn't meet his eye when he glances at her, taking in her ragged appearance. He is careful to avoid looking at the bruising behind her neck, as he isn't sure he can handle the truth behind it.

"That why you're not in your bed?" he asks quietly, knowing too well what she is avoiding. At his question she wrings her hands a little more noticeably, jaw clenching and unclenching with each breath. It was clear that she was troubled by something, deep in her gut and her heart.

"If I do not sleep there are no dreams."

"And that's what you want," he replies, already certain of the answer, despite the fact that it wasn't a question.

In a different time, this would've been when she jumped out of the chair, posture confrontational, and asked him in an irritated way if that was all he came to say. Now, she just sits and stares, breathing calmly.

"I see," he says, meant for her but spoken mostly to the room. Neither she nor the walls say anything back.

When he looks back at his partner again, he sees only her hunched shoulders, deadened posture, and defeated heart looking back at him. He thinks maybe the real Ziva died with their captors, and that's what's killing him.

He gets the sudden overwhelming urge to apologize, to utter the words forming in his head that he so desperately needs to release. But he can't, and he doesn't. He has no way of reconciling the way he feels. A few words cannot fix everything, and to her, they would mean nothing. In fact the words hardly mean anything to him either. The feeling in his gut is neither describable nor erasable, and if he was honest he couldn't even tell her what he was truly sorry for. So he remains silent and bites back his words.

For her, there is no conflict – she will not say it. She feels that perhaps she has wronged too many people too many times to be able to say it. She will not tell him that sometimes it is the guilt and not the watered-down meals that keep her in the bathroom, hovering over the toilet. She thinks maybe a part of her does not want to be forgiven. She thinks maybe a part of _him_ understands that.

They say nothing, and it is peaceful. They both feel things that no one else can ever know, truly _know_, so neither are sure they have to say anything. Instead she takes his hand, cold and yet so full of warmth.

He just stays with her until he has to leave, the dull golden light of the morning sun rising behind them.

* * *

_Thanks so much for giving this your time! Reviews welcome as always, and enjoy the rest of your day! :)_


	19. Stand

**Disclaimer:**NCIS or anything related to it, does not belong to me. Yes.

_Happy approaching holidays everyone! Read on..._

* * *

Kadin Al-Bashandi was never a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve.

His father had been much the same way, with his naturally quiet disposition enhanced by his Mossad training. Essentially, Kadin knew no other way to control himself. So when he found himself sitting across from the penetrative blue gaze of Special Agent Gibbs, it was no surprise that his features held no real reaction.

He knew why he was here – he could not deny it. He knew that the second this Gibbs called him out on it, he would not be able to deny it. The lie would be written on his eyes and he knows that despite his proficiency in fooling a polygraph, he would be forced to tell the truth. Every time he looked at his daughter his mind would flash to _her_ and he would have to leave the room, feeling sick in so many ways.

He knows deep down that he cannot reconcile what hangs over his heart.

He would not lie, but he would not lay himself down and wait like a helpless dog for the retribution of the man before him. He knows what he's done and he knows what he has caused, but he will not take the bait, even as Gibbs stares seemingly right through him, his gaze unreadable. No, it is not Gibbs that is bothering him right now.

He can feel her.

The room is mostly dark save for the lights directly above them, but he can feel her presence radiating into the warm air without being able to see her. Sitting, standing – he is not quite sure. He can see a dull outline, an unknown figure, but she is mostly hidden by shadows. She has not moved or said a word since they brought him in here. He is utterly repulsed and drawn to her presence at the same time. It makes his hands sweat and his stomach feels impossibly heavy.

"Your phone records," says Gibbs suddenly, sliding a few loose sheets of paper in front of him while never breaking eye contact. "They don't add up," he says knowingly, his tone soft and yet so determined to find answers.

Kadin is silent.

"File says you grew up in Israel. Right near Eli David and his family."

The name David automatically catches his attention, but he does not rise to it. His composure is completely in check.

"And you said you hadn't seen Tali David in eight years. Looks like you lied about that."

"I had to lie. She had a protected identity and was on a classified mission for over a year," he explained, doing his best to remain calm and under control. He found that the pervasive feeling of a stare piercing his heart did not help.

"She was already dead and you knew it. There was nothing to protect."

"There are still other operatives, other people connected to her. To tell you the truth would have been to jeopardize the entire operation. I had no choice."

"Did you have a choice when you decided not to extract her?"

"I was given direct orders not to pursue! I should have realized what was happening yes, and that is my mistake. But I did my job and I tried to find her. You cannot accuse me of anything," he spits out angrily, his dark eyes coming into contact with blue ones that simply do not trust him.

A few moments of silence pass.

"I'm having trouble believing you, Kadin," says Gibbs, his eyes never leaving the person across from him. Kadin already knows this, so he says nothing back.

"You grew up with their family. One of them ends up dead on your watch and the other is captured by terrorists after leaving your house."

"I had nothing to do with Tali's death," he asserts, raising his voice to match the rising anger he feels at being in this situation.

"And Ziva's?"

"She is not dead!"

"And I bet that really pisses you off doesn't it?"

There is silence, and there is nothing calm about it. He feels it now more than ever.

"I have known Ziva since she was a child…" Kadin led on, his composure failing as his stomach began to churn with guilt and defiance.

"So when she walked right into your trap you welcomed her with open arms."

"No."

"She asked you for help, and you turned her over."

"You do not understand."

"She trusted you and all this time you were just another terrorist."

"No!"

"You sold her out and left her to die."

"I NEVER WANTED HER TO DIE!" he yells, rising from his chair in a whorl of anger and impulse. A thin streak of sweat lines his brow and his eyes darken with something that is so incredibly hard to place. He breathes heavily for a minute, Gibbs looking up at him with eyes narrowed and ready.

"Sit down," he says lowly, his voice leaving no room for questioning. He feels a sudden wave of protection for the woman sitting behind him, subdued. Kadin sits, his breathing calmed and his eyes cast downward. "You have some explaining to do."

"I am no terrorist - I had no choice. They would have killed her."

"Who?"

"My daughter, Leila, she is three years old."

"You have military training. You work for the CIA. And you allowed all this to happen because of some threats?"

"No! They _had _my daughter!"

"DiNozzo saw her with you! You gonna lie to me again?"

"I am not lying!"

"Why should I believe you?"

"Listen to me!" he shouted again, his heart pounding with frustration and the feeling of being buried too deep in things he could not explain. Gibbs looked dangerous, but his expectant silence was enough for Kadin.

"When I told you Ziva called about Tali, I lied."

Gibbs's eyes narrowed, but he nodded for him to continue.

"Earlier that day she just showed up at my door, thinking she would find Tali. Hamas had someone at the border that happened to recognize her and DiNozzo when they crossed over. They got to my house two hours before Ziva did. I don't know how they found me."

"And?" asked Gibbs, looking unfazed.

"I came home to find my daughter with a knife at her throat. They said if I didn't agree to turn Ziva over to them they would kill Leila. Right there in front of me! She…she was crying for her mother," he said quietly, his voice choked with repressed emotion.

"So you agreed. And they left just like that," responded Gibbs, doing everything he could not to relate to this man. He was still a bastard.

"What would you have done?"

Gibbs remains silent for a moment, pushing thoughts of his own daughter and a dead murderer out of his mind.

"I would have found the person responsible and put a hole in his head. _Before_ I sent my friend to die at his hands."

"It was either my daughter or Ziva. I. Had. No. Choice!"

"A _choice_? Did you have a choice when you let my agents believe they were safe?"

Kadin said nothing back. He simply could not. Instead he rests his elbows on the table and places his head in his hands, trying to block it all out. He feels so wronged and so wrong at the same time.

"Someone will escort you out. CIA's gonna deal with you from there" he says firmly, wasting no time in rising from his chair and picking up the papers resting on the desk, giving Kadin one last hard look before exiting through the door on the right, leaving nothing but silence behind him.

For a few tense moments, he had forgotten she was there.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he had always felt her presence in the room, but it had been temporarily pushed out of his mind. So when he hears the chair being pulled out quietly and sees her silent movement in the corner of his eye, his heart seizes slightly and he instinctively leans back in his chair, distancing himself from her.

It should be hard for him to look her in the eye, he knows, but he cannot help it. There is something so eternally captivating about her, something much more complex than simple attraction. He is forced to meet the gaze of the ghost he wished he'd never met.

One of her eyes is circled by faded brown and purple bruising, the swelling gone but the reminder still ever present. The cut on her cheekbone has mostly healed, but the tender redness was still visible. Her left arm is draped in a sling, the edges of her fingers and parts of the white bandaging peeking out from the open end.

But it is mostly her eyes, so deep and full of grief, that bother him most.

"I have to know," she begins, her voice low and darkly smooth, "that you were truthful about Tali."

"I swear on my wife's grave, I did not give up on your sister," he replies strongly, his voice even with sincerity. He means it, and does not turn away with the shame he feels.

He is met with pregnant silence, the whispered echoes of things that weren't there taunting him with their enticing ability to forget, to _feel_. But there is nothing to feel. Nothing but _her_ and all that she carries. He still cannot take his eyes off her.

"You gave up on me," she half-whispers, part of her voice failing at the truth behind it.

The truth that goes beyond his physical betrayal and her brush with death. She is mourning, so much lately it seems. Mourning for a loss that runs so much deeper, so much harder, than just her sister's death. She knows she has lost something she cannot explain because she thinks, maybe, it was never there to begin with.

"I am so sorry," he whispers back, feeling his heart sink. Now he looks away.

"You were a brother to me, Kadin," she says solemnly, her voice sober and so painfully honest. One way or another she always loses them. They slip out of her hold with their hate and their pain and their lies, and she never gets them back.

She rises from her chair, eyes and heart cast downward, a blanket of darkness shrouded over her mind. This pain of betrayal has left her emotional wounds bleeding, open and raw. She heads to the door without looking back like the warrior she always was.

He knows this, deep down. What she says is true, and has never been more real. He suddenly feels a surge of self-hate and bitterness creep upon him, and he shakes his head in shameful honesty. It is derisive, yes, but there is a secret, hostile hopefulness to his words.

"And now you are going to kill me?"

She stops in her tracks, a flash of fire sparking in her veins before fading out quickly into a cool numbness. She turns around, meeting him with a hollow stare that conceals both very much and very little at the same time.

"No," she responds, turning back to the door, exiting quietly and leaving him alone with the cold silence.

_You are already dead to me_.

He has never hated himself more.

* * *

Personally, Tony didn't think the word _impatient_ covered it.

Impatience is not what had him pacing back and forth, hands in and out of his pockets indecisively for the past twenty minutes. Impatience is not what had his gut churning and his veins burning. No, this was an angry knot being walked out in layers of disgust and guilt. Brooding was a more accurate description.

Luckily for him, the CIA substation's hallways were a little less well-lit than the ones he was used to at the NCIS headquarters, so his menacing pacing went mostly unnoticed. A few people walked by, but they did not say anything to him (as if he expected them to). Now, he was just waiting for the right person to come down the hallway. Waiting.

Gibbs had found him, of course, and given him a silent warning. Then he just kept on walking, not bothering to ask DiNozzo why he was there. The man always knew. Just a look, meaningful and potent, then gone. Tony found he preferred it that way anyway.

He continues to let his feet work through his oppressive irritation, having given up on trying to stop. Every time he ceased his movement and tried to breathe in calmly and without thought, his mind would find its way back to why he was here, and he would need to start pacing again. Not physically agonizing, but under his skin nonetheless.

Footsteps approach from around the corner, and instinctively Tony's breath hitches for a second as he is brought out of the clouded haze of his mind. He presses himself into the wall behind him, in a way that's neither entirely intimidating nor entirely awkward. He hears dull voices accompanying the footsteps, and his face hardens into a glare. He knows it has to be them.

McGee notices him first.

He stops, naturally, raising a questioning glance to match the surprise in his shoulders. Kadin, who was right next to him (still cuffed), followed his lead, only with much less surprise showing in his demeanor.

"Tony," says McGee slowly, unsure as to why his colleague was here instead of the hotel, where Gibbs had ordered him to stay. "Did Gibbs send you here?"

He doesn't answer right away, earning a raised eyebrow from McGee followed by an uncertain clearing of the throat. He shifts a little in awkward discomfort. Tony just keeps his eyes on Kadin.

"You know what Timmy, why don't you get our guest of honor here something to drink? I'm sure he's thirsty after his little interview with the Bossman," remarks Tony lightly, his voice filled with subtle mockery.

McGee nodded with a frown, reluctantly taking the hint. When he is gone, Kadin finally addresses the man staring him down.

"Clever, DiNozzo. But I was expecting something a little less obvious."

"Really? Cause I was expecting a guy like you to be a little less of a lying traitor," adds Tony, stepping off the wall so that he was right in Kadin's space, facing him.

"What do you want?" spits out Kadin, clearly annoyed. Tony scoffs.

"Yeah, like you care what I want. No matter what you get to hide behind the CIA."

"And no matter what, you will not be allowed to touch me."

Tony's eyes narrow dangerously, and he lowers his voice. He has too much fire in his veins to back down now, regardless of the truth behind Kadin's words.

"You're not even pretending to show remorse are you?"

Kadin takes a threatening step closer in return. He can see right into the heated eyes across from him.

"Shut up DiNozzo, you have no idea the way I feel!"

"You think I care about your stupid feelings? If it was up to me you'd be dead!"

"Well then I guess lucky for me, your friends have managed to keep the famous _Anthony DiNozzo_ under control," Kadin says with half a smirk, angry sarcasm laced into his snide remark.

"I don't think you can talk to me about friends, considering the way you treat yours," replies Tony coolly, getting more and more lost in his emotions.

"And given _your_ tendencies with friends, I am surprised Ziva has stayed with you this long."

"Shut the hell up, Al-Bashandi," hissed Tony angrily, his fist and jaw clenched with a radiating tension.

"I read your file. Women are just objects to you, no?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," says Tony lowly, a knowingly dark undertone to his voice.

Kadin glares right back.

"I bet you enjoyed it when they violated her."

Out of nowhere Tony's fist connects with the side of his face, sending a reverberating pain throughout his cheek and jaw line. He staggers backwards, unable to balance himself with his cuffed hands.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" yells Tony loudly, heart racing with adrenaline and eyes blazing with so much anger and pain that it almost seems the deep green of his iris has darkened.

He takes a quick step towards the man leaning against the wall with every intention of blindly causing him more pain, but someone grabs him roughly around the shoulders and holds him back. He struggles at first, his resistant and irate movements proving difficult to restrain. But when he realizes he can't move, he turns around to see who stopped him. Gibbs. Perfect.

He pushes Tony to the side and grabs Kadin by the shirt, pulling him off the wall.

"Let's go," he says firmly, not even looking at the man. He pretends not to notice the blood leaking out of Kadin's nose. He turns to Tony, his eyes calm and strong.

"Take Ziva back to the hospital and have McGee meet you there. Don't come back here."

As always, like the faithful senior field agent he was, Tony listens. He knows an order when he hears one, and this was as clear as any. When he leaves, he feels the sinking weight of anger being replaced guilt.

It would have been easier if Kadin hit him back.

* * *

_Sooo my friends, that's it for this chapter! Thanks for reading as always! Reviews welcome!_


	20. Noose

**Disclaimer:** NCIS (which I sometimes pronounce niss-is with my sistah) does not belong to me. Dig?

_Just issuing a quick apology for the relative slow update for those that care that much, and for the mild short length of this chapter. But working hard still so dooon't even worry. Okay I'm done queriditas._

* * *

He will admit, what he's doing is a little bit creepy.

He had been watching her for the past ten minutes, noticeable to passerby but essentially invisible to her. Sort of like the Ghost of Christmas Future crossed with a guardian angel. Only without the glowing eyes, dark cloak, or halo. That would just be overkill.

From his position behind the door, Tony could see her every movement through the glass window as she paced back and forth outside in the small garden area. As far as he could tell, Ziva was alone except for the small fountain and a few benches scattered around the patio. She is visibly tense, and he's not sure if his presence will make whatever is troubling her worse or better. So he just watches.

Actually, he hasn't seen her in about two days.

This was mostly due to the fact that his doctor had seen it fit to release him from the hospital, thanks to the wounds on his legs healing well enough on their own without the need for hardcore painkillers or extra antibiotics. So for the past 48 hours, he'd been hobbling around the hotel on his crutch (he graduated from two crutches the day before).

The first day away from the hospital had been difficult. Gibbs had forced him to sit down and work on various papers that needed to be filed, but Tony found that concentrating was next to impossible. Even with people helping him, he became so bored and frustrated with everything that he just stopped, not offering his boss any real explanation. But Gibbs said nothing about it. For reasons he could not explain, this only served to piss off Tony even more.

The first night away from the hospital was even more difficult than the preceding hours. He didn't even bother trying to go to bed until after midnight, and when he did try and fall asleep, it took over an hour of tossing and turning for it to finally happen.

In the morning, he didn't admit to McGee that he had woken in the middle of the night, eyes panicky for a split second too long and sweat clinging to his back. He wouldn't admit to McGee that he felt he had been away from Ziva too long. Or that the second night was likely to not be any easier.

And that was why he was here, at the hospital, watching his partner.

He'd actually gone looking for her in her room, but her nurse had informed him that she'd gone outside to the patio-like area for some fresh air. But then he'd seen how on edge she was, and he hesitated. So this is where he found himself.

Suddenly his view is blocked by the opening of a door, whose frame cut into his line of vision before swinging closed again. By the time he can see clearly again, Ziva is no longer alone.

Now, she is being embraced by who Tony assumes must be her father. At least, he doesn't know anyone else who would have Middle Eastern looks, a powerful stride, and a not-so-subtle bodyguard figure standing by the door. Thankfully, Mr. Security couldn't see Tony from this angle.

Over his temporary shock at seeing a man he really wasn't expecting to show up, Tony focused his attention on trying to interpret their conversation. He didn't really think it qualified as eavesdropping, since he was too far away to hear what they were saying. Not to mention he was behind considerably thick glass. He checked one more time to make sure Gibbs wasn't right behind him. Clear.

From what he could see, Ziva was listening to her father calmly. She had a look of weariness about her, as if she had been expecting whatever it was her father was saying. She didn't nod, or reply, or even move. She just took it in, shoulders low but not entirely relaxed. Her father talked for a while, occasionally animating his hands, but never showing much expression on his lined face. Ziva just stood there, arms hanging loosely by her sides and her brown eyes shadowed with a look Tony had become too familiar with.

And then Eli fell silent.

He took a small step forward, closing a bit of the distance between him and his daughter. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm. Ziva still had no reaction, until her father said something again, and everything changed.

Her head shot up, eyes sparked with surprise and that fire that so characterized her.

She threw his hand off her shoulder, and took a step back, brow furrowed. She ignored her father's look of confusion and began ranting angrily, moving her hands and arms around in a way that Tony knew meant she was seriously annoyed.

Eli tried to interject, getting angry himself, but Ziva cut him off every time, raising her voice and glaring at him with so much heated passion. She stopped once, breathing heavily and still glaring, and Tony took that as a sign that it was over. But when her father tried to reach for his daughter and calm her down, she shoved him back forcefully, ignoring the angry tears stinging her eyes.

He was glaring now too, and he was right in her face when he started yelling.

His shouting didn't last long, as Ziva held her own with him and pointed an accusing finger toward the door to the hospital, raising her voice to match his. Then Ziva pulled something out of her pocket and shoved it into her father's chest, and in a last act of fury, spit in his face.

Eli, completely enraged and beyond reason, lifted a hand to hit his daughter, only to be stopped by Mr. Security, who had left his position by the door to intervene when the argument started to get out of control.

They stayed that way for a few moments, Ziva radiating fury towards her father, and her father staring in shock at his last remaining child, one hand still held firmly behind his head by the other officer and the other clasping what had been thrown at him. By the time he was released from the hold and opened his hand to look at the object, Ziva had left.

Upon seeing the silver Star of David necklace that belonged to Tali, he collapsed onto the bench, head in his hands. That's when Tony stopped watching.

Ziva hadn't noticed him when she stormed by in her anger, and Tony didn't stop her. Instead, he followed her back to her room, trying to be as quiet as possible with his crutch. He stopped in her doorway, not wanting to intrude more than he already had.

He knocked lightly on the doorframe.

"Ziva?"

She spun around, traces of anger still etched into her face, but her features relaxed immediately upon seeing who was at her door. He could have sworn he saw her eyes lighten a little before she fell back to being calm and composed.

"Tony? I was not expecting to see you until tomorrow."

"Yeah I wasn't expecting to come back until then either," he lied, shifting his weight awkwardly. Although Ziva, despite being the annoyingly good reader of body language, merely thought his leg was giving him trouble. "But I just thought I'd stop by, say hello," he continued, grinning slightly.

"Oh. Shalom," she said lightly, turning her attention towards the table near the window.

She picked up a bottle of pills and unscrewed the cap, pouring three little white capsules into her hand. She swallowed them with a swig of water from a cup and turned back to see Tony staring at her, his eyebrow raised in question.

"I should not have been walking around without the cane," she explained reluctantly, trying not to sound too embarrassed that, a) she could not handle walking on her own very well and, b) she still relied heavily on pain killers.

"Ribs still bothering you?" asked Tony, already knowing the answer. She nodded slowly, deciding that at this point, she really couldn't lie about it. Tony sensed her discomfort and stepped in from the door, a small smile on his face.

"Ah well, too bad they didn't give you a crutch, cause then we could be cripple buddies and annoy the hell out of McGee," he said happily, trying to cheer her up a little. She nodded, but didn't really respond.

"Sorry, dumb joke," he said, going back to being serious.

"I am used to it," she replied, deadpan. Not even the small smirk that usually accompanies such comments.

He cleared his throat a little, trying to casually bring up what he really wanted to talk to her about.

"So uh, where were you a few minutes ago? I was looking for you."

She turned to look at him, as if gauging whether this warranted her honesty or not. But after what they had been through together, she found it difficult not to be honest with Tony.

"I was outside."

He nodded casually.

"Ohhh I get it. Some fresh air, birds singing, shooting the breeze a little bit."

"Hardly," she replied darkly, turning away from him to put the pills back on the other table across the room, next to her bed.

"You're right, it's kind of cloudy out tod- wait, you understood that?" he asked excitedly, referencing the idiom he had used, which he knew meant the exact opposite of what had actually happened. She ignored him.

"My father came to visit me," she replied, the tone of her voice unfinished and ambiguous. Tony immediately dropped his light-hearted manner.

"I'm guessing it didn't go so well."

"No, it did not," she affirmed, leaving him hanging once again.

He moved a tiny bit closer, dropping his voice and hoping what he was thinking wasn't true. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more detached than he was feeling.

"He's making you go back to Mossad, isn't he?"

It was silent for a few anticipatory seconds, and Tony couldn't control the mess of thoughts running through his head at the possibility that she was leaving, each of them negative. Not true. It wouldn't be true. Would it matter if it was true? No. It couldn't.

She shook her head no.

"I am not leaving NCIS."

Tony pushed the surprise and relief back down, not willing to deal with what that could have meant for the both of them. Shit.

"So what did he do then?" he asked with the slightest bit of impatience, curiosity piqued. It wasn't until now that he realized that Ziva was absentmindedly fingering the little black wallet that he knew to be her sister's ID.

"He apologized," she said lowly, not looking him in the eye.

Tony didn't know what to say to that, so he kept silent. He was going to approach her when she let out a cold and defeated laugh, turning around to face him.

"What has become of my family, Tony?" she asked him, her tone that of someone who expects no real answer. He has none to give her anyway, and he softens his eyes at the torn look in hers.

"You know this isn't your fault," he says quietly, all too aware of the kind of guilt she is feeling. Ziva immediately turns on him.

"I believed my father and now what? Tali is gone and I was left to die for nothing," she spat out, her voice strained with raw pain that she had hidden for too long. She turns away.

Tony inches forward awkwardly on his crutch, trying to get closer to her. He knows her too well for this.

"Ziva what's bothering you?" he asks quietly, hoping she understands his sincerity. She doesn't turn around.

Silence.

He waits, sharply tuned in to the tension hanging in the room. He thinks maybe her silence is enough of an answer.

"I have to stay here," she finally says, turning around slowly. Her face is dark and quiet. Tony straightens his shoulders.

"What? But you just told m-" he starts, eyes flashing with the thought that 'here' meant with Mossad and her father.

"No, I have to stay _here_. At the hospital."

His tone immediately changed and his stomach clenched in anticipation.

"Why? What's wrong?"

She runs her unbandaged hand through her hair, moving away from him a little bit, pacing slightly.

It isn't until now, when her discomfort is clearly visible, that he takes a good look at her. The swelling under her eye has faded along with the bruising, but traces of deep brown and yellow are still there. The accompanying cut isn't raised anymore, but it still left an angry red line across her cheek.

"Ziva?"

"The doctors are not finished with me," she says, being intentionally vague. He frowns a little bit.

"You mean like x-rays? Well that shouldn't take too……" he trailed off, seeing her shaking her head at him.

"They have to run tests."

"Tests? I thought you…oh," he finished lamely, not knowing what else to say. His face darkens for a moment, and his eyes are drawn to the edges of her shoulders, where the bruising wrapped around her neck is still a deep purple and brown.

_I bet you enjoyed it when they violated her_.

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely, hoping he didn't push her too far. She brushes him off with the wave of a hand, but does not look him in the eye.

"I will not be released until they get the results," she says lowly, her voice thick with something warm and real.

"We'll still be here," he says softly, reaching out for a light embrace without thinking, but when his hand makes contact with her shoulder, she immediately flinches away from him, muscles and face tensed.

Tony retracts his hand non-threateningly.

"My, uh, shoulder…it is still sore sometimes," she lied, trying to steer the feeling in the room away from what they both knew was the source of her response to his touch.

"Oh," he said after an awkward pause. It was all he could come up with.

"Sorry," she mumbled, averting her eyes. She felt like she was burning. Why was this so hard?

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said seriously, speaking about more than her discomfort. She smiled a little at him. A knowing, I-don't-believe-you smile.

"I know that," she replied lightly, hoping he would revert to his joking manner. He didn't.

"I mean it."

She cleared her throat slightly, dropping her gaze again. She didn't respond to him.

"Ziva," he said firmly, trying to _make_ her understand. This was too important. Too real. Couldn't she see?

She was shaking her head now, eyes closed and lips tight, refusing to let him in. He clasped his hands around either side of her arms.

"You can't do this to yourself."

"Please stop," she says tiredly, trying to release herself from his grip. He drops his hands, his heart falling a little.

"I'm sorry," he replies again sincerely, honesty and empathy in his eyes.

Rationally, they should both be considering their ingrained reaction towards how apologizing is a sign of weakness, but neither of them do. Because it doesn't matter, here, now. Not after everything.

"Tony," she starts, seeing him look to the door as a preface to him leaving. He wishes he didn't have to.

"Yeah?"

"We will be leaving for DC soon though, yes?"

He nods, grinning encouragingly. He could not deny that going home has been on his mind, too. He is all too glad to leave. And he knows, yes he knows, what she means.

They understand each other implicitly.

_I cannot stay here_.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I always enjoy a little review if you have time :) Also, for anyone who's been following season 7, did anyone else notice Ziva's wearing a necklace again? Although I kept forgetting to look closely enough to see if it was the same kind as before...oh well!_


	21. Parabola

**Disclaimer**: NCIS or anything offically related/associated with it does not belong to me.

_By the way, I just want to clarify something. I know it's hard to follow the timeline of the story because I don't give specific dates and most of you aren't reading in one sitting, but the time right now should be around early-mid November_. _Also my apologies for the relative boredom of this chapter. But don't worry :)_

* * *

On some days, Special Agent Timothy McGee really hated his job.

The bullpen was almost completely quiet. Except for the background dissonance of phones ringing and voices chattering that had long since become white noise, there really wasn't much movement in his specific area. It was dull and annoying. Although he would admit, he _was_ glad to be back at his own desk.

He and the rest of the team had arrived into Dulles from Tel Aviv the day before yesterday, having made the trip from Cairo back to Israel as soon as the doctors had seen it fit to release Ziva. They spent only half a day in Tel Aviv, which, despite the short stay, left Ziva more uncomfortable than she was willing to admit – at least McGee thought so.

The flight home had been uneventful, save for he, Tony, and Agent Krieger (whom he had found a good friend in over the past few weeks) conspiring about what both their bosses could possibly be talking about at the front of the plane. Ziva slept almost the entire time. McGee was more actually more surprised that Tony didn't try and mess with her.

The airport was a different story. He'd pleaded Abby not to make a big deal, on account of the general mood still being low. She only half-listened to his requests.

Unlike their "good luck in Israel" party she had thrown them before they left, there were no balloons or party hats or cakes. However, she was so ecstatic and hyped up on Caf-Pow from her Team Gibbs separation anxiety that she had ran and squealed and hugged and greeted them in every way that was Abby. She even extended her warm welcome to Fornell and company.

The only after-effect to this enthusiastic ordeal was Abby's complaint to McGee in the car about Ziva being distant. Well, he couldn't really call it a complaint because Abby was anything if empathetic, but she did…express concern. McGee lied and said he hadn't noticed it. But truth be told, how could he blame Ziva for that?

After that the two of them had gone out to dinner to be debriefed about everything the other had missed, and he'd been too busy explaining everything that had happened to think about what was going on now.

But here he was, 36 hours later, his mind wandering all over the place.

It's not that he was bored – he wasn't. It's just that he was stuck, at a dead end. And he had nothing to show for it. Gibbs would certainly not be pleased whenever he got back from his coffee break. Of course, that's when he heard the elevator ding and scrambled to make it look like he was hard at work. _Great_ timing.

But it wasn't Gibbs.

"Tony? I thought Boss told you not to come in," he asked, not bothering to mask his surprise. But then again, should he _really_ be surprised?

"He did," replied DiNozzo, setting his coffee cup down on his desk and pulling out his chair, not bothering to make conversation with the currently confused junior field agent.

"So…"

"So I had nothing to do and I wasn't gonna sit at home all day."

"Come on. Gibbs gives you the day off and in your boredom you decide to come to work? What about Ziva?"

"Doctor's appointment," Tony replies quickly, as if anticipating what McGee was going to ask him. And that he wasn't going to elaborate on that. But McGee was already used to that – he practically had to beg Tony to tell him why Ziva had to wait so long at the hospital in Cairo. He couldn't decide if he regretted asking or not.

He shook his head, brushing it off.

"Still don't know why you came _here_…" he trailed off, turning back to his computer.

"I'm hung-over, Probie, cut me some slack."

Now he turned his attention back to his coworker, who was slowly unpacking his things.

"Seriously? You get released from the hospital and return from a month-long stay in the middle of the desert and the first thing you decide to do…is go _bar-hopping_?" he asked incredulously, his eyes narrowing into the characteristic surprised and annoyed McGee look.

"Tim. It was a joke," replied Tony lowly, keeping his eyes on his computer as he turned it on.

"Oh. Right."

_Tim?_

"Are you okay?"

"I can guarantee you won't be if you keep staring at me like that."

McGee frowned and turned back to his computer screen, not wanting to press his friend even further. But it was clear something was on his mind. A few minutes of silence passed before Tony spoke up again.

"McGee. I didn't mean that. Just had a rough morning is all."

"Don't worry about it. Just don't expect Gibbs to be happy to see you."

"Where is he anyway?" asked Tony curiously, peeking above the bullpen barriers as if Gibbs would suddenly appear and stride around the corner as he so often did.

"Coffee with Fornell," replied McGee while typing away at his keyboard.

"FBI still hanging around? I mean a case is a case but sometimes you just have t—"

"DiNozzo," came a stern voice from behind, causing Tony to spin around in his chair.

"Gahh! Uhh, hi Gibbs. You scared me."

"What are you doing here?" asked Gibbs, not too harshly but not too nicely either.

"I know you told me to stay me home…"

"Yeah so why didn't you?" asked Gibbs, moving around the corner and walking to his desk.

"Thought I could help with the case."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uhh, yeah. I mean McGee does all the computer stuff and maybe I could run down some leads or…something. Please just let me help?" he asked half-jokingly, changing his tone to get sympathy points he knew he would never get from Gibbs. It was still fun to do.

"Gear up then. Tobias just gave me the go ahead on picking up Walker," he said to the two of them, reaching into his drawer for his gun.

Tony stopped smiling like an idiot once he processed what Gibbs said.

"Wait, Walker?"

"Don't tell me you forgot who he was already," replied Gibbs in irritation.

"No no PFC Walker – he's the Marine who tried to kill Ziva. You found him?"

"Always knew where to find him, just waiting to bring him in."

"Waiting for what?"

"You."

Tony cringed in confusion.

"But…you told me to take the day."

"Yeah, I know," replied Gibbs, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Tony was still frozen in place, question all over his features.

"So then why…"

"Just about to call you in, DiNozzo."

"Oh," replied Tony, understanding enough to continue packing up his bag. McGee rolled his eyes at him, to which Tony responded with a mock-indignant look of his own.

They headed towards the elevator, Tony following behind his coworker with a smirk on his face.

"You're just jealous you're not valuable enough to be called into work even when your leg is still recovering from serious injury," he said knowingly, low enough so that Gibbs wouldn't hear him.

"Keep telling yourself that," replied McGee sarcastically, stepping next to his boss to wait for the elevator. Tony was still smirking slightly when he stopped behind them. He cleared his throat a little.

"So, uh, why did you have to wait for me again?" he asked Gibbs, dropping his light attitude. This _was_ pretty serious.

"Because you're gonna help with the case," replied Gibbs slowly, quoting Tony's words from a few minutes earlier.

"How?"

"When we bring him in, you're interrogating him. Let's go," he said firmly, stepping into the elevator with the steel blue eyes so full of determination.

Looks like Tony wasn't going to be the only one with a rough morning.

* * *

Three men stepped out of the navy blue Charger, each one armed with a Sig Sauer and a hardened look that meant there would be no messing around. They swung the doors to the sedan shut and observed the small gray house in front of them, each one radiating control and focus.

This guy had seriously pissed them off.

"DiNozzo," came the strong voice of Gibbs, stopping the younger agent in his tracks. "Stay here and guard the car," he said, nodding towards Tony's barely healed leg as a sign of explanation. Tony frowned, but nodded.

He pulled his windbreaker over his bulletproof vest a little tighter at the slight chill in the autumn air.

"McGee and I will take the front," said Gibbs again, although years of experience meant that Tony could draw this conclusion for himself.

The two approached the front door in silence, each one subconsciously checking their earpieces and drawing their weapons (Gibbs had a feeling this guy wasn't going to voluntarily get in the car). Gibbs knocked on the door forcefully.

No answer.

"PFC Walker? NCIS, open the door!" called McGee loudly, stepping forward to shout through the thick wooden door. After a few more tense moments of waiting, Gibbs lightly motioned for him to step aside and nodded.

The door was kicked open within seconds.

"Check the upstairs," said Gibbs quietly to his other agent, moving through the dining room area, gun held ahead of him and eyes ready. McGee nodded and headed for the staircase over to the right, slowly and quietly making his way up the carpeted stairs.

Gibbs moved through the living room into the kitchen area, where he took a second to notice the half-eaten plate of pancakes and almost full glass of orange juice sitting on the small wooden table. Walker couldn't have been gone very long then.

When he turned the corner of the living room area, the crack of a gun sounded and he quickly ducked behind the wall as two bullets whizzed by his right arm. He took a second before turning the corner again with his weapon aimed and ready, only to see the back of a dark blur running and the creak of a door swinging open.

Tony immediately straightened at the sound of gunshots. He drew his own weapon and began heading for the front door when Gibbs's voice sounded through his earpiece.

"He's coming around the back DiNozzo," warned his boss, sounding as if he was pissed and stressed at the same time.

Upon hearing the indirect command, Tony ran forward to the edge of one of the corner walls and pressed himself against the side, hoping to surprise the private when he made his escape towards the street.

Three seconds pass.

He grips the warm metal of his gun in his hand, a part of him aching to use it.

Two more seconds pass. Heavy, urgent footsteps and loud breathing sound from the side yard. His muscles tense and he subconsciously holds a breath.

A man appears in Tony's peripheral vision, and he sticks out a leg to trip up the unsuspecting suspect. Walker lets out a yell of surprise and flies forward, face and elbows skidding onto the pavement of the driveway with a painful thud. His gun falls from his hands and out of his reach.

Tony is on him in a second.

With one knee pressed between his shoulder blades and the other pinned to his side, Walker is still squirming and fighting to be released from the unrelenting grip. Tony presses his knee harder into Walker's back.

"Get off me asshole!" yells the Marine, face turning red in his taxing effort.

"Try again," remarks Tony coolly, cocking his gun and pressing it into the back of Walker's head. He immediately stops struggling and concedes to the influence of a weapon aimed at his skull.

Gibbs turns the corner of the house and slows himself down as he sees Walker on the ground and DiNozzo holstering his gun. He makes his way towards the two men, taking out his own cuffs to assist his senior field agent.

With the cuffs snapped tightly around his wrists, Gibbs roughly pulls him to his feet.

"Jason Walker?"

"Yeah who the hell are you?"

"NCIS. You have some explaining to do. Let's go," he says firmly, pushing Walker ahead of him with his famous gentle Gibbs-touch and heads towards the car, Tony close behind.

"McGee," he says into the small microphone on his wrist, keeping one hand on his prisoner. McGee's 'yeah' came quickly through his ear. "Call for another team to bag the evidence and meet us back at the car."

By this time Tony was loading Walker into the car, grinning as the severely irritated Marine tried to nurse a stinging scrape on his face without using his hands.

Gibbs whipped out his cell phone to make a call, dialing a familiar number.

He nodded at McGee as he approached the car and stepped into the backseat on the other side of the car, ignoring Walker and his minor yet obvious injuries.

"Abs," Gibbs said seriously into his phone after the third ring, hoping his favorite scientist wouldn't interrupt with a babble of questions. To his surprise, she just cheerfully responded.

"I need you to pick up Ziva," he continued in his vague yet light tone reserved for Abby. He hung up the phone mid-rant, knowing she got the message. He wanted Ziva to be there when they interrogated her would-be assassin.

The thought of Ziva and all the bullshit she went through because of the man in the car was enough to get Gibbs to slam his door and peel off towards NCIS headquarters.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Reviews welcome and encouraged! Happy Saturday!_


	22. Wrong

**Disclaimer:**This is getting old, and I really haven't been doing this that long. NCIS isn't mine.

_By the way, I renamed all the chapters to have titles because a) I got a sudden urge to do so, and b) if you're like me and you don't have the attention span to read through an entire story in one sitting, it's easier to remember where you left off if the chapters have names. Anyway, that's not that important. Read on lol_

* * *

The lighting was low.

Only the small lights above the TV were shining down dully into the room, leaving a faint yellow glow that was just bright enough for the space they were in. Not dark, but not really light either. Ziva preferred it that way.

Ever since she had gotten back, it was a tendency she found increasingly hard to avoid. When she had been in the hospital, everything was _always_ white, bright, clean, sterile…it didn't take a genius to figure out that she had just gotten sick of it. Leaving Cairo and all of its medical benefits had been so appealing…just plain leaving all that behind. It was great, it was what she wanted.

But now…now she doesn't know.

This was the third day since they'd arrived back in the States. She'd had a few doctors' appointments, since switching from the care of one hospital to that of one on another continent required plenty of paperwork, but other than that, there was nothing.

Just nothing.

Wake up early. Take some medication. Read. Fall asleep. Wake up again. Try to eat something. Take more medication. Fall asleep again. Pace around the living room. Sit. Nothing. Go to bed.

And it didn't get better.

So here she was, lights dimmed and room quiet, sitting idly on her couch. She stays that way for awhile, subconsciously running her fingers over the rough surface of the cast encasing her left wrist. Passing time seems too positive a term. This is exhausting.

With the same lack of thought and the same emptiness, she pulls forward one of the glasses resting on the table in front of the sofa. She reaches for the bottle of Smirnoff, pouring generously into her glass and ignoring the voice in her head.

She swallows it down and cringes slightly at the burn. Cheap, but effective.

She drums her fingers lightly against the glass and places her Sig on the table, which had previously been digging into her back. Another thing she'd taken up since she'd returned – carrying her sidearm around the house.

She thinks. Not sure if she wants to remember or to forget.

She pretends to picture Tali here with her. The two of them together, laughing the same laugh at the same things. Sharing stories about years of lost time, reminiscing about sneaking out of their summer home in Haifa. Such a simple happiness.

But that's not what Ziva sees.

In her mind there is only blood and desperation. It is the only reality that ever meant something. Tali's heart did not belong to that life. It never had, and it never _should _have. She used to beg Ziva, confusion in her eyes. And somehow now Ziva is the one left in the dark. How could Tali have died twice?

She was killed in an explosion. A suicide bomber. All that they recovered were charred remains. Ashes. But there was no doubt she was killed in the blast. Until this summer, when it became a lie, and healing seemed to be on the horizon. But then she was killed by terrorists. Arms dealers involved in her operation. And all anyone will ever find is a building razed to the ground by flames. Ashes.

It could be almost funny, in another world. But the wound cut twice as deep.

She reaches for the handle and pours herself another. A part of her relishes the burn this time.

She is alone now, but it's not like she thought it would be. The walls aren't screaming. There is no deafening silence, nothing eating at her from the inside out. No voices, no flashes of anything. No. She is just alone.

The dark should bother her.

Seven days in a dusty room, four of them with practically no light save for the hateful spark in the eyes of someone she never wants to think about again. Night after night spent with only the demons of her memory. She should hate to spend any time in the dark. But she doesn't.

She shouldn't be drinking with medication. But she is.

She shouldn't have let that man do what he did. But she did.

And why should she care? Tali is not really here. Dead bodies don't lie. That was something Ari had told her once. Now, after all these years, she is not so sure he would say that if he could see his own body. Buried as a hero, a servant for Mossad and Israel. Not dead at the hands of someone who had almost sacrificed everything to believe in him. A lie.

…_he created not a mole, but a monster._

If that were so, then what did that make Ziva?

A sister? She killed her own brother and let her sister die. A daughter? Her mother is long dead and she and her father are anything but close. A soldier? She almost scoffs – she is no fighter here.

Perhaps that made her no different than Ari. Ziva David, bringer of death. She never sold her soul to the devil, but this is what it comes down to anyway. Neither fragile nor invincible. But maybe both.

She goes for the glass again and waits for the numbing effect.

Maybe it doesn't matter, or maybe it does. It would have been quick. She knows this. They wouldn't have wasted any time. A shot to the chest, directly at her heart, so they won't have to clean her head off the floor. Hit, dead. No in-between. No gasping breaths. Just the firing of a gun.

She has seen enough to know that when you die, you die. Like that. Not slow motion.

As if on reflex, she reaches for her Sig resting on the table. She can almost hear the bullet exploding out of the barrel. And that would be the end. It would have been quick, easy even. She turns the gun over in her palm, as if contemplating the actual mechanics of this.

Idly, she fiddles with the little lever on the side, turning the safety off and then on again. It was an old habit she'd picked up on stakeouts, something Jen had been surprised at (and a little afraid of) the first time she worked with Ziva.

Jen. Just as dead as all the rest.

Another swig of vodka slides down her throat. She feels nothing.

Maybe she should she cut herself off now. Or maybe she should have just followed her instincts all those months ago. Or maybe it wouldn't have made a difference even if she had.

It would have been easier. Pull the trigger, and then nothing. It should have been easier. All that time, all those feelings. End it and eventually it makes no difference. There are no regrets for the dead. Dead bodies don't lie, he said. But he's dead and he lied.

This didn't have to happen. That's what they always say. But actually that's the ironic part. Because yes it did. She had lived a life that set her up to die. It had to happen. But somehow she was still here.

It was supposed to be easier.

No tears, no hate. No hospitals, no tangled sheets at night. No lies, no betrayal. No exposure, no grieving. No apologies. No leaving home, and no returning to a different one. Just another spent round taking another spent life.

How could this _not_ have happened?

She turns the gun over in her palm again, sweating into the grip. She cocks the gun, not even registering the little click it makes. The dark black metal is heavy in her hand.

Killing yourself is supposed to be the easy way out. Whoever said that had obviously never thought about it. Fuck.

_I never wanted her to die._

Maybe that was a lie too. She looks down. The safety is off. Hit, dead. Maybe not so easy.

All the sudden she jumps at the forceful pounding on her door, her eyes darting to the source of the noise. A muffled voice comes through.

"Ziva, are you in there? It's Abby!," the voice yells, knocking on the door some more.

Ziva sets the gun down on the table and rises to her feet quickly, her heart still racing from the surprise. Her head spins slightly, and it takes her until now to realize her hands are shaking.

Abby knocks a few more times before Ziva finally reaches the door and pulls it open for her.

"Good you're here! You weren't answering your phone so I thought I'd check," she explains, taking a step inside despite the blank look she was getting from her Israeli friend.

Ziva closes the door and turns back around to face her visitor.

"Okay so I have some really good news. Like, _really_ good news. Wanna hear it?" Abby asks excitedly, staring at her friend with enthusiasm. Ziva, taken aback, stammers a little bit without really saying anything. But Abby went on anyways.

"Gibbs caught Walker! They're bringing him into NCIS right now. Oh this is so great for you," squealed Abby, rushing forward to catch Ziva in a tight embrace. It took extreme willpower for her not to fall over. The light buzzing of her head certainly wasn't helping.

Abby almost immediately retracted and crinkled her nose a little bit, her arms still gripping Ziva pretty tightly.

"You smell like cinnamon and…booze. Were you drinking or something?" she asked, flicking the light switch and scrutinizing Ziva, who said nothing. Her eyes were heavy and her normally olive skin was slightly flushed.

Oh yes.

"You _were_, weren't you?" asked Abby knowingly, a mischievous smile on her face. She let go of Ziva and turned to the table by the sofa, where the bottle of vodka was lying open next to the glass.

Abby closed the lid of the bottle and smirked again, turning back to her friend.

"Didn't your doctor warn you about this?"

Ziva had yet to say anything. Abby furrowed her brow for a slight second at the lack of response, but turned her attention back to the table. She gasped dramatically when she saw the gun.

"Ziiiva," she dragged on in an almost indignant tone, turning the little lever on the weapon back to its original position. "Do you know how many people have died by messing with guns when they thought the safety was on?!"

All she got in response was a dull shake of the head.

"Like thousands! You should be more careful, especially when you're not using it. I mean it's not like you were going to shoot anyth—" she suddenly stopped, bringing her hands up to her mouth in shock.

"Oh my god," she whispered quietly, taking a second look at what was around her. The alcohol, the subdued nature, the ignoring of her calls. The loaded gun on the table. _No_. She looks back at Ziva, praying she was wrong.

"Were you about to……" she trails off, unable to finish her sentence. That would make it real. And she knows it is very clear what she was implying.

Ziva doesn't say anything. Her shoulders are slumped, arms hanging loosely. She can't feel if her hands have stopped shaking or not. Her eyes were shadowed, hollow. She drops her gaze.

And then out of nowhere, Abby slaps her across the face.

"How could you even think of doing something like that?" she asks heatedly, her shock replaced by anger. The unexpectedness of it leaves Ziva's head spinning even more, and her vision is unstable when she brings her head back to center.

The only answer she has for her angry friend is the tears that sting her eyes.

Abby slaps her again.

"What, you were just going to throw everything away?" she asks again, hot tears flowing down her cheeks now too. "How could you do that?" she asks again, her voice thick with emotion and a deep hurt growing inside.

Ziva can't control the tears flowing freely down her face, her expression never changing from its stony outlook.

"I was not going to do it," she says lowly, closing her eyes briefly and reopening them, trying to steady herself. The fact that it was true is irrelevant. It was close enough to not being true to leave her feeling like crap.

Silence hangs.

Abby reaches forward and embraces her again, holding on tightly to someone she only now realizes she came very close to losing permanently. She pulls back slowly, lightly pressing her palm to Ziva's cheek as a sign of understanding and reconciliation.

"You don't have to do this all by yourself," she says calmly yet quietly, releasing her grip. The statement is vague, but Ziva thinks she comprehends what is being said. In all of her brooding she never considered that. She fights the resultant feeling in her stomach.

"I know."

She means it now.

"You ready to go?" asks Abby finally, motioning towards the door with a quick nod of the head. Her pigtails bounce at the movement, and for some reason this reminds Ziva of why she came.

She nods her head and grabs her coat, focusing all of her energy on appearing more sober than she is. When Abby gives her gun back, safety on, with a meaningful expression, Ziva doesn't say anything. She finds herself staring at it for a moment.

The door opens behind her.

"Abby!"

Her head whips around, held back by Ziva's sudden grip on her forearm.

"I…" she hesitates, trying to work through the current haze clouding her brain. "Thank you."

How could she express what she was feeling?

Abby smiles softly, understanding what was never said.

_I'm sorry_.

"Come on, Gibbs is waiting for us," she says happily, linking Ziva by the arm and heading out the door.

Onto NCIS.

* * *

_My apologies for being so hard on Ziva throughout this whole story :( But have faith...Thanks for reading! Leave a little review :)_


	23. Fault

**Disclaimer: **Uh, NCIS is not under my ownership.

_I just noticed that FFN got a new little icon. Oh._

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want a lawyer?" asked Tony seriously, his tone almost condescending.

Walker stared straight ahead as he gave his answer, shoulders straight. His jaw was clenched and his arms were relaxed on the table. The only indication that he was in any sort of discomfort was the oozing scrape on his cheekbone and eyebrow.

"No sir. I've done nothing wrong."

"Right, because shooting at federal officers and resisting arrest isn't wrong. Unless you were referencing something else…"

"If I had known who you were, I wouldn't have done that, sir."

"No of course not. You're in the United States Marine Corps. A red-blooded American. _Semper Fi_," says Tony, definitely condescending this time. Walker's eyes narrow a little bit, creating a tense silence.

"That's right."

"Do they teach you to murder people in the Corps?"

"No, sir."

"Okay this is gonna be a lot easier if you stop with the military mode."

"Military mode? I was trained for this, sir."

"Exactly. I need you to talk to me like a man, not a soldier. Stop calling me sir and we can get this over with."

Walker is silent, but keeps his features schooled.

In observation, Abby steps in with Ziva, both women's arms linked together. Gibbs spares them a meaningful glance, but says nothing of Abby's apparent need to keep her friend close. Ducky follows his lead of silence, but makes a mental note.

They turn back to the window as Walker says something again.

"Is there a reason you brought me here?"

Tony snorts, looking down at the files in front of him, not meeting Walker's eye.

"Oh…yeah, yeah there is."

More silence.

"Soo, Jason. Ever seen the movie _Psycho_?"

McGee, who was leaning against the wall in the corner of the same room, rolled his eyes.

"No," replied Walker quickly, as if this was obvious and dumb.

"It's a classic Alfred Hitchcock film, 1960. Anthony Perkins stars as this guy who runs a motel off the highway and rents it out to people. Mostly women."

Walker looked annoyed.

"Turns out that he ends up killing the women that come through the motel because the voice of his dead mother, who had controlled his life, tells him to. There's this really great murder scene in the shower and we find out that he keeps his mother's body in his basement and anyway…it gets pretty creepy. Hence, _Psycho_."

Everyone in observation, who had most likely heard Tony's rants on Hitchcock films multiple times, couldn't help but smirk at the irritation in Walker's voice.

"And what does this have to do with me?"

"You remind me of him. Only difference is, I don't know who's telling you to do things."

"Now hold up, I didn't kill anybody," he says firmly, leaning forward in his chair and staring fiercely at the man across from him.

"Not even Ziva David?"

A flash of recognition sparks in his eyes, poorly concealed. He straightens his posture in hopes of looking convincing.

"I don't know who that is."

"Really? Because your financial records say you were paid a hundred grand to kill her," he says, his tone leading.

Walker doesn't say anything back. Instead, McGee steps forward and plants a picture on the table, right in front of the interviewee.

"This sniper rifle was found in your house. It's an M40. The same kind they teach you to use as a Marine. And the same kind you used to shoot at Ziva on the highway."

He pulled the picture closer to look at it, despite the explanation of the content. He looked back up at McGee, calm defiance written on his features.

"You can't prove that I killed her."

Tony stared for a moment, eyes narrowed in concentration and intimidation. He finally turned to his colleague.

"McGee, why don't you bring that screen a little closer," he said casually, indicating the small plasma that had been brought in for this purpose.

"This is a film you _have_ seen, by the way," Tony says quietly, leaning into the table for mock emphasis. "It's the story of what happens when a soldier gives 50,000 dollars to some local guns for hire. It only just came out, but this is the matinee showing, so you should be good."

By this time, the small screen has been lit up with black and white footage of a downtown side-street. Ziva is standing on the sidewalk near the corner, hand on her hip and head facing forward. From this footage, it is clear that she sees something.

Several moments later, the front bumper of a dark SUV appears on-screen behind Ziva, and she raises her gun at the first SUV across the street without even realizing she was being ambushed. In a matter of seconds and bright flashes, the SUV is gone and Ziva is lying motionless on the concrete.

McGee stops the footage as the figure of Tony runs into the frame, chasing down the vehicle and firing his weapon. They had agreed that they were going to make Walker think Ziva was actually dead.

The Tony in interrogation clenches his jaw as he pretends that watching what he had truly thought was his partner's death is not so difficult the second time around.

"Are you gonna tell me that was a random driveby?" asks Tony, eyes focused and voice hardened.

"You can't prove I was in that car," replies Walker, matching Tony in seriousness. Tony pulls out a few pieces of paper from underneath his file.

"Actually we can. You see, our friends at the FBI, they take crimes against law enforcement pretty seriously. They did a little digging, and they found that SUV at a police impound. Lucky for us, really. Because your fingerprints were all over the backseat."

Silence. Walker runs a hand over his head.

"So, do you _like_ killing cops, is that it? Get sick of being a good Marine?"

Walker leans forward menacingly.

"Like I _said_, I didn't do anything wrong. That stupid bitch _deserved _to die."

Looks like they were finally getting somewhere.

"Oh really? And why's that?"

Walker snorted and leaned back in his chair, as if this was a waste of time.

"Yeah like you care. All you're gonna do is defend her."

"Look, JayJay," said Tony in a lightly-irritated tone, raising his eyebrows and lifting his hands as a go-ahead. "I'm all ears."

"No one is gonna convict me when they hear my story, alright? No one."

Tony cocked his head, his green eyes locked on Walker.

"Two months ago I was in Iraq. And it was terrible. I had to watch my friends get blown up or shot down every single day. And my brother, my brother was there. He joined the Corps a couple years before me. But he was stationed at the same base as me. He taught me everything, you know?"

"Actually my little brother Timmy writes novels and plays World of Warcraft. So no, I don't know."

McGee stared with his 'you're an idiot' look, unamused. Walker just continued his story.

"One day, this local man approaches my brother's squad. He looked like one of those typical old friendly neighbor guys. Says he has information about a couple of insurgents hiding out, wants to help. But he said it was too dangerous there, so he was gonna meet up with them later."

Tony shifts his weight again, clearing his throat. He was starting to get annoyed at the length and apparent irrelevance of this little tale.

"Next day, my brother and his men go out to meet him. The local guy pulls up in some messed up old pickup. Doesn't get out, doesn't say a word. A minute later the car explodes. He wiped out a whole goddamn group of Marines with a couple blocks of C4."

Tony waits.

"They raided the place he was staying in, and they found all this shit about cargo shipments and troop movements! He was a _fucking _spy for Al-Qaeda! A terrorist spy!" he yelled loudly, pounding his fist on the table. McGee took a half-step forward, thinking he might have to restrain him.

Tony was unfazed.

"What does this have to do with her?" he asked, pointing to the Ziva frozen on the screen.

"When I was leaving Brian's funeral, these two guys stopped me. I didn't want to talk to them cause I thought they were Muslims. But when I got home, they were waiting at my front door. They told me they were Mossad."

In observation, Gibbs glances at Ziva in question. She looks equally confused. He notices how tightly she is gripping Abby's arm and turns back to the interrogation, where Tony is pressing on.

"What, a couple of Israel's finest just showed up at your door?"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I swear. They were legit. They had badges and passports and shit! They must have followed me from Iraq cause they knew what happened to my brother and everything."

"You're telling me…that Mossad officers hired you to kill Ziva David?"

"_Yes_. They told me this woman, Ziva or whatever you call her, was a spy for the same group of terrorists that blew up my brother! And she worked _inside_ this building! You know these Arabs, they're all the same. They come to you as friends and they stab you in the back, just like that. There's no way that bitch was getting away with it."

"So you killed her. Remind me again why they hired _you_?"

"No one fucks around with Mossad. They said they needed this woman dead, but they weren't allowed to do anything on American soil. So they needed my help to do it. A hundred grand was more than enough. I wasn't gonna let what happened to Brian happen to anyone else. I was _glad_ to help them."

The room fell silent, and McGee wasn't sure which man was radiating more anger.

"And the thugs in the SUV?"

"I had to make sure she didn't get lucky again."

No one says anything for awhile, and Tony keeps his intense gaze on Walker, who is reclined in his seat, confident. Tony keeps himself under control, angry yet calm. He shuffles a few papers.

"Reminds me a little bit of _Boondock Saints_."

Walker smirks to himself, complacency written all over his face. Tony pretends to smile back, pulling out two sheets from his pile.

"These your Mossad officers?" asks Tony, sliding them across the table. Walker leans forward quickly, not expecting to see pictures of the two men lying cold in the morgue.

"Yeah, what the hell?"

Tony takes the sheets back, moving them to the side.

"Well then I have a story for you too, Walker. And I have illustrations," says Tony seriously, jabbing a finger at the top of his manila folder, which has yet to be opened. Walker looked up, confused.

Tony pulled one sheet out of the folder, placing it in front of the man across the table. It was Ziva's ID picture.

"Meet Mossad Officer Ziva David. She's been liaising with NCIS for the past three years. I sit across from her every day."

Walker is seriously confused now, scrutinizing the photo with eyebrows furrowed, doubt all over his face.

"And these two guys…this one is Nasim Haddad. And this is Ahmed Kanaan. Both low-level Hamas terrorists. They're thought to be responsible for the murder of two Mossad operatives in Gaza."

He pauses to let that sink in.

"Guess that's how they got badges," adds Tony, forcing the man across from him to make the connections.

Walker shook his head fervently, not believing it.

"No, no. She was an Arab spy, I know it!"

Tony ignores him.

"Do you want to know how we found these men?"

Walker kept staring at the pictures.

"They were hiding in an old bunker south of Cairo, in the middle of the Eastern Desert. Do you know why?"

No response.

"They had two prisoners. Myself, and Ziva David. Because when you tried to kill her the second time, she was wearing a vest and got _lucky_, again. And then we walked right into their trap, which started with you."

Walker looks like he had been punched in the gut. In observation, Ziva tenses, and Abby shoots her a concerned glance.

"So while _you_ were sitting at home sipping Dom Pérignon and watching _Band of Brothers_ reruns on your new flat-screen, _she_ was being beaten and raped because those guys had nothing better to do than wait for her to die."

Abby's eyes widen in shock, and she turns to her friend in complete surprise. Gibbs subtly motions for Ducky, equally taken aback, not to approach Ziva, who looked on the verge of passing out. He made a mental note to smack DiNozzo later.

"Oh my god," whispered Walker, resting his elbows on the table and putting his head in his hands.

Ziva can't stand whatever she's holding back any longer, and she pulls herself from Abby's grip and quickly leaves the room, feeling heavy and dizzy.

"You know what's pathetic, Walker?" asked Tony darkly, rising from his chair and picking up the scattered files.

Walker looked up as if he was going to cry, hands still resting on-top of his head in defeat.

"If you had looked closer at the pictures those guys gave you, you would've seen that," he said, using his finger to indicate Ziva's necklace hanging from her neck in her photo. "It's a Star of David. She's not even Muslim."

Walker didn't say anything back. He just stared at the table, eyes completely empty. Tony made for the door, which McGee had already opened.

"Oh," he added quickly, turning around. "You might want to change your story for the Israelis. I don't think they like it when idiots like you interfere."

Walker's head perked up immediately.

"You're turning me over to Mossad?"

Tony nodded indifferently.

"Please, you can't do that to me!" he yelled desperately, fear evident in his eyes. Under different circumstances, Tony would've laughed.

"Actually, yes, I can. Enjoy the free coffee," muttered Tony darkly, shutting the door behind him and tuning out the other man's protests.

McGee turned to him as soon as the door was shut.

"We're not really turning him over, are we?"

"No. But he doesn't need to know that."

McGee smiles a little bit, turning to follow his colleague to observation. He really hadn't expecting it to be that easy, but hey…

Observation was empty. McGee looked to Tony curiously, expecting the people that were watching to be a lot more than…not here. Voices were coming from around the corner.

Tony stopped at what he saw, eyebrows raised. McGee almost ran into him.

Ziva was bent over at the middle, leaning against the wall for support. She was puking. Apparently she hadn't made it far when she booked it out of observation. Abby was right next to her, trying to hold her up.

"I think we missed something, Probie."

Tony sobered up when he saw the look from Gibbs, who wasn't planning on following Ziva until he heard her retching and Abby's subsequent reaction. He was standing a few feet away, watching with that indeterminable gaze that so characterized him. Curious and worried.

"You two," calls Gibbs waving his hand to indicate DiNozzo and McGee. "Take her upstairs. Duck see if you can get her something," he adds, nodding to the medical examiner behind him, who had been watching eagerly.

A tense silence falls between them, and the four of them head for the stairway, Ziva clutching Ducky's elbow tightly, muttering quietly about how she must look "drunk off her butt".

When they are safely out of ear-shot, Gibbs turns to Abby, who has been working very hard to appear innocently confused.

"What's going on, Abs?"

She shifts her weight intentionally, trying to skirt away from the question.

"Um, if I quote one of your rules about secrets and not telling people, would you be mad or would you just…slap, my…head," she trails off, knowing it was a lost cause from the start.

Gibbs smiles his knowing and amused smile that he saves for her. He still looks expectant.

"I'll take that as a no, Bossman."

She holds his gaze for a moment longer, biting her lip slightly. Then she crumbles.

"Okay look I know she's your agent and all, but I really _really_ don't think I should be yelling about this in the middle of the hallway."

"So then don't yell. Just tell me."

Abby looks hesitant once again, but knew she would have to give in. With Gibbs, she always does.

"I think she was going to do…something," she said lowly, letting her words hang. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Something," he deadpans, cocking his head a little bit.

"Yeah, something. Like you know, a…thing…that people do. Well not _all_ people, but some people. Actually I was watching this really cool show on the Discovery Health Channel, and it said that not only p—"

"Abs."

She sighed, dropping her shoulders and looking uncertain. She didn't want to do this to Gibbs or Ziva.

"She needs help. And she'd never ask for it."

Oh, _damn it_. Gibbs thinks he can read between the lines now. He shakes his head and frowns to himself, turning to the elevator. Hell, Walker could wait there all damn night for all he cared. He had things to do.

"Thank you," he says into her ear, giving her a light kiss on the cheek. He stalks away around the corner without waiting for a response.

Abby is left alone in the hallway, somehow feeling worse than before. She wasn't sure what had just happened or what was going to happen, but now she doesn't really know what to do.

A Caf-Pow seems like a really good idea.

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_Thank you to you readers for reading. I love redundancies. Also, I appreciate reviews :)_


	24. Change

**Disclaimer: **Seriously, why do we bother? NCIS is clearly not mine. (The funny thing is that I will continually disclaim everything)

_Yes, I realize that not much really goes on in this chapter. But hey, it happens. And the next one is going to be the conclusion, so hang in there I guess!_

* * *

The doors of autopsy slid open with a quiet _swoosh_, revealing a charming Scottish medical examiner, looking relieved.

"Ah, Ziva. There you are. You gave me quite a fright just a minute ago. When I told Tony to keep an eye on you, I was confident he would do a better job," he said casually, striding over to his desk and turning on the desk lamp.

Ziva, who had been standing alone and absently staring at one of the examination tables, lifted her gaze from the cold metal and smiled thinly at the doctor's comment.

"Tony has a way of getting easily distracted. I am very used to it by now."

Ducky nodded gravely, adding his agreement.

"Now that I've found you, I may as well give you this," he said, unscrewing the cap to a bottle of Tylenol and handing her two pills. She hesitated a moment before taking them, feeling vulnerable all of the sudden. She met the look in his eye and accepted the accompanying bottle of water without question.

"Thank you," she replied lowly, dropping her gaze to take the medicine.

"That's all I can do for you right now, but I have no doubt that time is on your side. You'll just have to wait it out, as they say," he said lightly, referencing the remaining alcohol in her system.

It didn't escape Ziva's notice that he was kindly refraining from asking her more about it, to which she was secretly thankful.

A few moments of silence passed, not particularly uncomfortable, but not pleasant either. Ducky's curious brogue broke the silence.

"May I ask why you decided to seek refuge in the morgue?"

Ziva continued her blank staring that the table, bottle of water clutched in-hand.

"I like autopsy," she replied simply, practically monotone. Ducky made a low noise as if considering something.

"Don't let Mr. Palmer hear you say that, or you _too_ will have to suffer the effects of his fascination with the clinical benefits of exhumation. I'm telling you, that boy can talk for hours about the _strangest_ things," he said, his voice full of surprised amusement.

Ziva let out a small smile to herself at the irony of the statement and its speaker, but kept her silence. Ducky sighed.

"I suppose you are more like Gibbs when it comes to discussing personal matters," mused Ducky, accepting that he probably wouldn't get much of an answer out of his colleague and friend.

She frowned, took another sip of water, but didn't respond. She figured it was more of a rhetorical comment anyway.

"Ziva," he started heavily, a knowing tone to his voice, as if sensing what was bothering her. She looked up at him blearily. He continued with an almost sad look in his eye.

"I'm sure that Tony didn't mean to let slip those details. He would not have done it had he remembered you were in the other room."

She shook her head to brush him off.

"He got his confession, yes?"

Ducky nodded a little skeptically, not wanting to upset her further.

"Yes well, it can't be easy having other people know exactly what happened to you," he said a little quieter than usual, trying to soften it.

Ziva, uncomfortable at the way that sounded, tried to force a dull smile at the man across from her.

"Believe me Ducky, it is not the first time I've had to sleep with someone like that," she replied, shrugging her shoulders as if unaffected but sounding serious.

Ducky shifted slightly, tilting his neck pensively.

"Forgive me for saying this, but am I right in assuming this was the first time you had no control of the situation?" he asked, looking as if he was about to offer her consolation.

She stared at him briefly, but her only response was to take another sip of water. He was right, and she knew he knew it. And she hated it. She turned her gaze back to the empty table.

"If you would like, I can arrange for you to have some tests run just to be safe. Or maybe you would prefer a woman, I'm sure Doctor Ham—"

"Negative," said Ziva suddenly, cutting him off. He raised his eyebrows in polite confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"The tests. The hospital in Cairo already ran them. All of them came back negative."

"Well that's certainly good news, isn't it?" asked Ducky brightly, smiling and trying to cheer her up without even thinking about it.

She nodded grimly, not lifting her eyes. Ducky quickly picked up on her discomfort.

"Are you sure there is nothing you wish to talk to about?" he asked, his voice full of the empathetic honesty that so characterized him.

She didn't answer right away, and seemed to be sticking to the code of silence she has imposed on herself. After a few more moments of silence, he frowned slightly to himself, accepting defeat. He turned back to the doors, ready to leave her be.

"I should be on that table," she said suddenly, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn back around. Her voice was deep, eyes full of focus. Pained, but in a sad, accepting sort of way.

He wondered if she realizes she said that out loud. When she doesn't acknowledge that he is still standing there, listening, he knows she meant to say it.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" he asked, not sounding surprised, but not hiding his concern either.

She tenses her shoulders almost unnoticeably, looking reluctant. She can still feel the sting of Abby's hand on her face.

"After Gibbs found us, I tried not to think about it. Being in the hospital was bad enough. But when we got home, I…" she trailed off, not knowing how to explain it.

How do you explain to someone that every time you wake up in the morning your stomach tightens because you have no idea what to do? How do you explain to someone that you don't know how to move on? Anger, guilt, shame, loss. Words with no meaning. How do you explain that to someone?

"I do not know," she finished sullenly, absentmindedly fidgeting with the cap of the water bottle sitting on the table.

Somehow the look on Ducky's face made him appear as if _he_ knew. Well maybe he did.

"You can get professional help you know. I assure you, you are not alone."

Ziva wasn't sure if he meant that in the same context as she thought he did, but that small statement means more to her than she ever thought it would. Her throat tightened in a reflex she wished she could hold back.

"Tony and I start sessions next week," she responded, as if this concluded everything.

A few more moments of silence pass, in which neither can read what the other is thinking.

"Will you be alright?" he asks softly, sincerity in his old friendly eyes. Her automatic answer is _yes_, so easy to say and so incomprehensive that it's like she never said it at all. Just an answer, with no feeling. But she wants that feeling back, so she says it anyway.

"Yes," she says dully, nodding the shortest of nods as if to reemphasize that she's not lying. Paint the right picture and he will see it. Saying that should feel like she _is_ lying, but somehow it doesn't. Maybe she isn't, but she does not dwell on it.

Ducky smiles warmly, realizing that part of the conversation is over.

"You look exhausted. I'm sure Abigail would be happy to let you use her beloved hippopotamus again," he said after a moment, referencing the time weeks ago where she had been led to "accidentally" sleep off a concussion in Abby's lab.

Ziva returns his smile, soft but sincere. Calmly comfortable, with something else. Ducky feels a surge of inexplicable pride towards the woman in front of him, happy to see her with a gentle resilient strength that seems to make her glow.

Just then the doors slid open again, and both of the darkened room's occupants turned to see a slightly panicked-looking Tony sighing in relief as he found what he was looking for.

"Good, Ducky, you found her. I was gonna check the bathroom next but last time I did that I think I was slapped by three different girls. And not in a good way. Uh…is everything good down here?" asked Tony quickly, feeling as if he had intruded on something personal.

Ducky, not missing a beat, strolled back over to his desk with his usual stride, picking up a stack of papers.

"Ah yes, Anthony, I was just about to bring these files back to Jethro."

Tony raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"The medical records for our PFC Walker. I'll be upstairs if you need me," Ducky called out in explanation, sounding casual and leaving the room to head for the elevator.

When the soft ding of the opening of the doors sounded, Tony moved forward into the room a little bit, trying not to acknowledge the tension hanging in the air.

"So…" he began slowly, unsure of where to begin. Or if he even needed to. But she didn't say anything to him, just looked at him expectantly.

"I guess your ninja sneaking skills are still up to par," he added, smiling tightly. There was something accusatory in his tone that Ziva immediately recognized, something behind his usual humor.

She narrowed her eyes the tiniest bit, confused. Was his ego that wounded by something so stupid? She had no response for him. He shrugged now, traces of his anger becoming more prevalent.

"What, nothing to say? You just gonna stand there, or…" he trailed off, his smile fading and jaw muscles tightening.

"You would like an apology?" she asked, her tone condescending and showing her irritation at _his_ irritation. He scoffed.

"No, but an explanation would be nice."

"An explanation," she repeated, sarcastic.

"Yeah, you know, where people _explain_ things. Like, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Oh, no. Absolutely not. She roughly placed the bottle back down on the table, turning to face him, eyes confrontational.

"Wrong with _me_? You seemed to know everything before, but _now_ you want to talk about it?"

He lowered his voice slightly.

"What are you talking about?"

"You are _completely_ unable to keep anything to yourself. You can say anything, about anyone, and it means nothing to you!"

He looked genuinely confused and concerned now.

"Okay, stop. I think I'm the one that should be asking the questions here," he replied firmly, subconsciously putting his hands up in a submitting, uninvolved position. She ignored him.

"Do you think I wanted them to know? Did it not register in your useless brain that I was _right there_? Or did the idea of me being a victim somehow make you feel better about yourself?" she spat out, radiating anger into his personal space.

Feeling stung, Tony took a half-step backwards, glaring.

"That's a joke right? You have no idea how hard that was for me."

Ignoring his vicious words, she continued on.

"Oh yes, it must have been hard for _you_, the famous Anthony DiNozzo, talking about someone else for a change!" she yelled, letting the words fly out of her mouth without thinking about them.

"You know damn well that's not what I meant."

She let out a derisive laugh, mocking him in amusement. He flared his nostrils dangerously, jaw clenched tightly in aggressive silence.

"The curiosity is just killing you, is it not? Is that why you came down here?" she asked, venomously, knowing she was provoking him. She had no idea why she was saying these things.

He still had no response.

"Tell me! You want to know? You want to know how he pinned me to the floor? How he spat on my face? How he left me there to die?"

To her surprise, he reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulders tightly, all too aware of his rising disgust and anger.

"Shut up Ziva! I don't wanna hear that shit, okay! Just stop!"

Ziva immediately stilled, shoulders limp in his grip and eyes dark with everything she was holding back. More angry at herself than ever. Angry that there was no true feeling behind the resentment she had just shown, and angry that a part of her felt there should have been.

Tony took a moment and calmed his features before he dropped his hands after seeing her stop completely.

"I thought you were dead," he said lowly, voice full of dark sincerity. "They dragged you out of that room and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. You didn't come back and I thought they killed you. Then all the sudden I was holding you, half-dead, right in front of me. And I had no idea what they did to you. So don't think for a _minute _that this was somehow easy for me."

She was at a loss for words, too wrapped up in the weight of what he was saying. How did it escalate into this?

"Tony, I…" she began, her voice thick and reluctant again. "I should never have…"

_Said those things? Dragged you into this? Thought about leaving you behind? Met you in the first place?_

He didn't wait for her to come up with an answer, just reached out for her hand and grasped it in his own, holding her cold fingers close to his palm.

"We don't have to think about it now."

She returned the pressure in his hand, relaxing. Maybe he was right. A lot of things happened that should not have happened, but she was here, now, alive. And Tony was here, still with her, alive.

"I'm sorry," she says after a moment, voice deep and almost having a humming tone to it. He can almost feel what she says, almost as if she's not really speaking at all.

She meets him in the eye, a warm calmness spreading through her. This is life now. You can't go back and you can't stay where you are.

"I know," he responds, the words coming so easily. There is nothing hiding beneath his statement, and he thinks they have taken a step forward now.

He is here, and so is she. They'd sunk low, hit bottom. Hurt by so much. But they are alive, and they are not alone. And they believe that. Together, and they have something shared now.

The world wants you to define it. Give it a name, analyze what that means. It can either be this, or this, or that, which means something else. Which will lead to something else. And you can name that too, because it all fits.

But not here, not with them.

They're moving on.

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_Review and you're done :) Also, I guess you're done if you don't review haha whatever. Thanks for reading! _


	25. Breathe

**Disclaimer:** No, NCIS is not mine.

_Yes, this is the last chapter! Not sure how many of you are waiting eagerly, lol, but whatever here it is. Also, for anyone that watches LA, let it be said I almost crapped my pants. I think you know what I'm talking about. That is soo irrelevant, I know. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! Read on.._

* * *

Dr. Jenna Kohler wrung her hands together lightly, sending a smile toward her patient as the young woman took a seat opposite her desk.

"It's good to see you again, Ziva."

After about a week and a half of counseling with the "company shrink", Ziva knew enough to understand that such statements were sincere.

For one thing, Dr. Kohler had been in the game long enough to not be anything other than sincere. She'd graduated from the University of Virginia with a degree in criminology, then continued onto grad school and studied psychology. After spending several years working at a correctional facility, she was highly qualified when she finally came to work at the NCIS headquarters in DC. So all in all, she _knew her shit_, as Tony had so kindly put it.

Ziva felt that as a cop she should dislike such a person on principle, but then again she was never one to do many things "on principle". This woman had never been anything but honest and friendly, and Ziva could not hate her.

So when she smiled softly back at Dr. Kohler, she meant it.

"How have you been over the past few days?"

A moment of hesitation.

"Fine."

Such a cliché answer, but it's the only one that worked. Not good, or bad, but somewhere in the middle. Fine.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"Nothing important."

Dr. Kohler considered this for a moment, nodding her head briefly.

"And the nightmares…do you still have them?"

Ziva frowned, involuntarily dropping her eyes.

"Some nights. But not every night."

There was silence for a few moments, as if they were on the edge of something bigger. It was mildly tense, but there was serenity in it.

"You never tell me about them," led Dr. Kohler, dropping some of the light-hearted tone in her voice. She can read her patient's body language like a book. _And why should I?_ But she hardly felt that kind of frustration was actually directed at her.

Her gaze seemed to relax Ziva after a few moments.

"Does it help?" she asked softly, unable to completely mask the quiet anxiety she was trying to hide.

"I think it will," offered Dr. Kohler, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Ziva sighed.

"Most of the time I dream about my sister Tali."

"Have you told her about them?"

"She is dead," replied Ziva, hollow.

"I'm sorry. How did it happen?"

There was a pause, full of reluctance.

"She was tortured by a group of Egyptian arms dealers she was trying to infiltrate. They held her for at least three weeks before she died."

Officially, it was Dr. Kohler's job to be unfazed by such things. As a counselor in law enforcement, it was necessary to have such an attitude. But as a human, and a woman, her heart ached.

"How did you find out?"

"My father ordered me not to contact her, but I had not seen her in eight years. So I went after her. I was the one who found her body," she replied stoically, keeping her voice low and under control.

"Your father kept you separated? Was he at the funeral?"

Ziva furrowed her brow, one more piece of her mask slipping away.

"There was no funeral," she replied, feeling the inside of her palms begin to sweat.

"And why not?" asked Dr. Kohler professionally, hoping she wouldn't be shut out now. And if she did, it would certainly be an improvement anyway. She could not deny, Officer David was not the easiest of patients.

But Ziva began speaking.

"After she died, I was…angry. When she was talking to me and I saw what they did to her body…the look on her face. She was my little sister," she trailed off, deep in pain-filled thought.

"What happened?" asked Dr. Kohler softly.

Ziva could not lie.

"I killed the men as they were praying and burned the building down," she finished, fidgeting with the edges of the cast on her one wrist. She stared intensely at the floor, clearly not going to say any more.

Dr. Kohler sighed deeply, thinking.

"Ziva…"

"I should feel guilty, yes?" she asked suddenly, bringing her head up with a small self-ridiculing smile.

_I know I should, but I cannot. And that hurts more than the rest._

"Have you told anyone else about it?"

Ziva shook her head, suddenly feeling shame.

_How can I?_

"You think I should?"

Dr. Kohler tilted her head noncommittally, sounding honest.

"Not necessarily."

Ziva nodded, no trace of relief or questioning on her face. It was blank. Dr. Kohler looked her in the eye.

"But I think you should let it go."

* * *

Tony strode into the office casually, humming a low tune to himself as he approached his desk. A Monday, but at least it was a beautiful morning.

"Hey," he muttered lightly to his partner, who was already sitting at her desk and focused on her computer. She really did get here early, didn't she?

"And why are you so happy?" she asked, not looking up from her work. Tony dropped his bag next to his desk and pulled out his chair, grinning.

"Oh, just thinking."

"About?"

Tony relaxed into his chair, putting his hands behind his head.

"Well, with us being on desk duty until the good doctor clears us, Agent McGee here has to strap on his boots. Man up. Handle the big guns."

"And this excites you."

Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, McGee was currently not in the room.

"Oh yeah. It makes me proud seeing Timmy all grown up."

Ziva raised her eyebrows.

"And I like watching him do all the legwork," he conceded, bringing his arms forward from behind his head and sitting forward in his chair. Ziva let out a low chuckle.

"So…" began Tony, starting up his computer. "I tried to call you once this weekend."

"Yes," replied Ziva, hesitating before answering and sending him a brief glance before going back to her work.

"So did you lose your phone, or…"

"I had a date," she lied, cutting him off. Of course, with Tony, this was a poor choice of words to use to get him to drop it.

"Hmm, what's his name?" he asked, his tone light but disbelieving.

Not in any mood to play their little jealousy game, Ziva sighed, sending a thin glare towards her colleague, who was staring expectantly. He chuckled knowingly, realizing he'd won.

"Okay so where were you really? Come on, you can tell me," he replied defensively, putting up his hands humorously as if to say _you know me_.

Ziva considered for a moment, staring at him thoughtfully. But she gave in.

"I was at the synagogue," she said lowly, waiting for his reaction.

"Oh."

"And now you are going to make some stupid Jewish joke about yarmulkes or gold, yes?"

"No," he replied seriously, getting up from his desk and heading towards hers. "I just…didn't know you did that."

"I had not gone in several years."

He nodded, but didn't ask why she suddenly changed her mind and decided to go. He was pretty sure he knew the answer anyway. Then his attention was drawn to her neck.

"You're wearing your necklace again," he pointed out, nodding his head to indicate her Star of David chain that had made a reappearance and was now hanging from her neck. He hadn't seen it since she had taken it off when they left Tel Aviv for Cairo.

"Not getting all spiritual on me, are you David?" he joked lightly, just hoping to see her smile a little. He'd never admit it, but he was pleased when she finally did, despite her sending him a sarcastic stare before doing so.

Spiritual? Not likely.

But she did have Tali's possessions packaged and shipped from her flat in Cairo, behind the back of her father. As a result, she had to call in a few favors from various people, but in the end it worked out.

And when she got them, there was nothing special about it. There was only one box. She kept a few photographs, and put the rest in the back of her closet. Probably never to be looked at again.

The next day she bought flowers to place next to the framed photographs. A symbol of life.

No.

Just letting things go.

* * *

"And why do you think that was the hardest part for you?"

"Come on, really?"

"Tony," began Dr. Kohler, straightening her posture slightly and trying to get the full attention of her patient, who was currently narrowing his eyes at her in a _let's be serious_ manner. "I can only help you if you talk to me about it."

Tony sighed, rolling his neck on his shoulders and taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"Did Ziva talk to you about it?" he asked, his voice echoing a strangely knowing curiosity, as if he was already aware of the answer.

"You know I can't tell you that. But trust me, this isn't any easier for her than it is for you, okay?" she replied kindly, trying to make him feel a little less on edge.

Tony frowned, scratching the back of his head subconsciously.

"So what was the question again?"

Dr. Kohler smiled thinly, satisfied that at least he was making an effort.

"You were telling me how they separated you and Ziva. Why was that so hard for you?"

_How could that not be hard for me?_

But Tony appreciated her use of the pronoun _they_, as opposed to saying something like _captors_ or _terrorists_. That would make them sound impassive, unreal. But he knows that's not true – they were men, with ideas. And the means to execute them. Use the word _they_, and it reminds him of the true danger. Because evil is not as elusive as it is made to look.

Dr. Kohler was waiting for him to answer, but not impatiently.

"Looking back on it, you think it would be easy to explain. It's not my fault, at least not completely. Things were going on that I didn't know about, that I couldn't know about. You can't stop and change everything, right?" he asked rhetorically, letting out a small _such is life_ smile.

"But you don't agree," replied Dr. Kohler, reading his body language and the undertone of hidden sarcasm laced in his words.

"When you're there, living in that moment, it's different. You don't think about how your leg is all fucked up, or about the automatic weapons pointed at your face. All I could think was how she tried to fight back and next thing I know she's bleeding all over the place and I did nothing."

Dr. Kohler was silent, pensive. She read their medical records and everything, but to hear Tony speak about it in person, it was different. Like he said.

"How long were you apart?"

"Two days," he responded quickly, not thinking about it. He had lost any trace of humor he had been carrying with him.

"And what did you do during that time?"

"What did I do," he repeated, partly to consider his answer and partly to let Dr. Kohler know this wasn't an easy question. He was silent for about half a minute.

She nodded, reassuring. Waiting.

"Nothing," he finally said, meeting her gaze with a seriousness emanating from his green eyes that seemed so strong, but not completely invulnerable. "I didn't do anything."

"What do you mean?"

"I sat there against the wall. One guy brought me water once, but that was it. I just sat there. I even cried. Guess I broke my code about DiNozzo men, but when they didn't bring her back…"

Silence. She let him wait.

"I thought she was dead."

And that's all there was to say, at least for him. There's no explaining it. He thought the expression on Dr. Kohler's face meant she understood that.

"I know."

No _what was that like?_ Or _how did you deal with that_? No hollow words or empty phrases, but a promise of reality, of understanding.

"And that's what gives your survival so much meaning," she added seriously, seeing him take it in.

There is a soft quietness, and he nods, smiling a little.

"So what do I do now, ask her to marry me?" he jokes, bringing back his grin and his casual attitude. Dr. Kohler lets out an earnest laugh, returning his bright smile.

"No," she replies, shaking her head.

He plays with his little half-mohawk comb-over thing, still grinning.

"But I think you should stop kicking yourself."

* * *

"Thanks for calling. Yeah. I'll let him know as soon as he gets back to the office," said McGee into the receiver, holding the phone to his ear tightly with one hand and scribbling on a scrap of paper with the other.

The person on the other end muttered a quick _bye_ and McGee was met with the dial-tone soon after. He hung up and finished writing down the message, not looking up as one of his colleagues entered the bullpen.

"As soon as who gets back to the office, Probie?" asked Tony as he walked in and clipped his own cell phone back to his belt, a teasing glint in his eye.

"Gibbs," replied McGee, heading over to his boss's currently empty desk to deliver the written message.

Ziva, who had been working diligently at her desk, perked up in curiosity at the building interaction between Tony and McGee.

"Oh," replied Tony, slightly disappointed for no apparent reason. "Do we have a case?"

"Nope."

"Then……"

"That was Fornell. He called Gibbs on his cell but I guess he didn't answer."

Ziva frowned in confusion, at which Tony shot her a curious and slightly mischievous glance.

"Oooh the FBI. Not sure if I like where this is going. Just tell me, was it good or bad?"

"Well that depends," answered McGee, smirking at Tony's current lack of the upper hand in knowing the whole picture.

"On what?"

"Do you like murder?"

"Okay McGee stop being cryptic. You're scaring Ziva."

The person in question rolled her eyes, but continued listening closely. McGee, despite his amusement at his teammates' frustration, decided to tell them.

"MPs found Walker dead on his kitchen floor this morning. Apparently the guns he hired were pissed about something. Maybe they found out he talked," replied McGee, letting his sentence hang.

"Well yeah, either that or they realized they could have made more money working as male strippers and decided to take out their financial frustration on the guy who hired them," added Tony, taking a seat and ignoring the strange look Ziva was sending him.

"Yeah I'm sure that's it," said McGee sarcastically, heading back to his own desk. "If Gibbs comes back just let him know for me, okay?"

"And where are you going?" asked Tony, just to be annoying.

"I have to bring something to Ducky, I'll be back in a little bit."

McGee picked up something off his desk, not bothering to wait for the juvenile comment that was sure to come out of DiNozzo's mouth.

Then it was just Tony and Ziva in the bullpen, each one focused heavily on various things that needed to be done for a case they were working on. Well, Tony was pretending to concentrate on work. Solitaire was actually much more productive on such mornings.

Was it a bad thing that he was relieved the pathetic asshole was dead?

Ziva was the first to break the silence.

"Speaking of phone calls, who were you just talking to?"

"Who me? Ahh just an old buddy from Baltimore. He wants to go out for drinks later."

"On a Wednesday?" she asked, eyebrows raised, not buying it. They had a mini-staring contest, but eventually Tony gave up. Sometimes you just can't win.

"Okay fine, you got me."

Ziva smirked competitively.

"You really want to know?" he asked, seeing the spark of interest flash in her eyes.

"Unless you have another undercover girlfriend, then yes," she replied happily, probably enjoying these small moments of banter more than she should.

"Hey, easy there kitty. Don't want to die at the hands of curiosity now, do you?"

She narrowed her eyes in confusion, unable to recognize the twisting of the adage. He laughed stupidly at her expression but moved on.

"If you must know, I was on the phone with someone from JAFI."

Ziva paused, looking up at him. Seriously?

"The Jewish Agency for Israel," she replied, monotone, not sure if he was kidding or not.

"Uh-huh."

"Tony. Why?"

He shrugged, erasing some of the smirk off his face. That _was_ a good question.

"Just wanted to talk to the people in charge of Leila Al-Bashandi's case. Make sure it was moving, with her father tied up and everything."

Ziva eyed him curiously, conflicted with a strange sense of pride and sadness. She lifted herself from her seat and approached the front of her partner's desk quietly, the dull padding of her feet barely making any noise.

She put her hands on either side of his computer, dropping her voice softly and seeing the hidden harshness the topic brought up.

"He was not always a bad man," she said lowly, speaking of Kadin and the friendship they once had. Years and experiences spent together. She would not say it, but when she looked at Kadin it was impossible not to think of Ari.

"He sold us out, Ziva," he replied, listening, but unswayed.

"Yes, but I have known him a very long time," she returned, brown eyes looking deep yet restless.

"You never say anything about it," he led, his tone serious. She nodded and sighed, pursing her lips a little. His words were almost identical to Dr. Kohler's.

"I told you about the dream I kept having before all this happened, yes?"

"Yeah you said it was about one of your first ops or something, right?" he asked, earning himself an affirming nod from his coworker.

"The target, the real man that I killed…it was Kadin's father. He was a highly-respected Mossad operative until he was suspected of leaking information to Hezbollah in exchange for favors."

Holy shit.

"Wow," whispered Tony, almost completely floored by this revelation.

"We were never able to pin it on _him_, exactly, but one night we had the source of the leak cornered in Beirut. I was assigned to eliminate the threat. I did not find out who it was until after I killed him," she muttered darkly, clearly not fond of the memory.

"Did Kadin ever find out?"

"He knew Mossad was behind it, but he never found out it was me who killed his father. There were times when I thought he knew, but…he left Israel soon after that."

Tony is silent, unsure of how to say anything in response to that.

_Ever lie to someone you love, Ziva_?

"You did the right thing," he told her, somehow feeling as if he was speaking about more than just what she was confessing to him. She shrugged.

"Sometimes I am not so sure that is enough."

Tony smiled a little, trying to brighten the mood.

"Maybe, maybe not. But if you want I can put your name down for a donation with me," he said offhandedly, indicating with a jab of the thumb the webpage he had up for donating to JAFI.

She gave him her signature half-smirk, all too aware of what he was trying to do. But she appreciated it all the same.

"It probably won't go directly to Leila, but hey…" he added, pulling out his keyboard to type.

"Okay," replied Ziva after a moment, accepting the small comfort he was offering.

Perhaps it was ironic that it took him until now to realize it was incredibly sunny outside, and on any other day he would have scoffed at their Kodak moment and the apparent typical symbolism of the weather.

But today, he didn't.

"How does a hundred bucks each sound?"

Just doing the right thing. Letting it go.

* * *

It was a Friday night, the end of a long day and an even longer week. Criminals never seemed to slow down and the approaching signs of autumn leaving certainly didn't make things better.

Well, at least it wasn't a lonely night.

Three people sat together at a bar, relishing the isolation of their small, dimly-lit booth from the rest of the rather rowdy patrons. There were only a couple empties in the center of the table, no one really in the mood to rush whatever they were doing.

Not particularly unusual, but there is something different about it too. Something glowing, ethereal, and warm. The feeling is natural and hard to place, but it is calming.

A fourth person approaches the table, precariously holding four drinks. Two in hand, two tucked under her arm. She looks as if she is going to drop them at any second, but she makes it to the table without any real problems.

Tonight, they settle on beer.

She takes a seat, sliding the bottles across the table to their soon-to-be owners, each person muttering a quick thanks and wasting no time in taking the caps off with a light _pop_. She smiles sincerely, content to being in their presence once again, despite their previous separation only lasting a few minutes.

There is a comfortable silence, and no one takes a sip yet.

A toast?

They nod almost unnoticeably to each other without saying anything, each one looking around at the others and knowing what they are thinking. It's almost too easy for them.

They raise their bottles at the center of the table, glass clinking together. They smile, expressions soft, no need for this to be spoken aloud. Each one thinking something different in their head, relaxed.

Abby, to realizing that your friends are your family, clichés be damned. To getting through another day, to being here together. To us.

McGee, to being back home. To tying up loose ends, to closure. To being there. To reunion. To having people you can rely on.

Tony, to being alive. To fighting and surviving, to having the balls to keep going. To coming full circle, to healing. To them. To partners.

And Ziva, to remembering the lost. To strength, to defiance. To moving on and letting it go. To feeling it in her heart, and to them. To life.

Different, yes, but they all lead to same thing. To faith.

Faith in the way the four of them are sitting there together, sharing something. Faith in the way the sun rises and sets with each day, leaving something behind but bringing something new. Faith in the tides, and the moon, and the golden summer breeze. Faith in life, and in death. Faith in the way they can be stretched, but they will not break.

So they drink to that.

Tony swallows down a large swig, then places his bottle loudly on the table, grinning.

"Don't worry McGee, drink up. Ziva's paying."

"Hey!"

"I recall a certain someone stealing all of my snacks…"

Ziva looks shocked at this revelation, stealing a quick glance at Abby, who looked guilty and apologetic. She rolled her eyes, but laughed with the others.

Yes, to faith. And that's enough.

* * *

_Hehe and that's the end :) Thank you so much to anyone that has been reading! Reviews always appreciated :) _


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